


A Touch of Darkness, A Fall of Light

by samwise_baggins, Steve-Bucky-Stucky (Chemical30)



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Character Death, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-20 06:39:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 51,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8239607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwise_baggins/pseuds/samwise_baggins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chemical30/pseuds/Steve-Bucky-Stucky
Summary: James Barnes was never supposed to fall in love with Steve Rogers. Steve was a pure soul, a pure soul that James needed to get his life back. A demon isn't meant to fall in love, after all.





	1. A Pure Soul

“There’s one coming tonight. Hurry up before _he_ knows.” The dark-haired figure stood in the shadows of the nightclub, music throbbing all around. But rather than pay attention to the pulsing bodies, the freely flowing intoxicants, and the smell of sexual promise, the muscular figure waited almost impatiently to get out of the mass of humanity. “I got _him_ distracted with that pile up over on eighth, but it won’t last. _He’ll_ smell the delivery.” His eyes seemed to glow a smoldering, depth-less black in the already darkened corner.

Wiping his hands on a towel, a tall, lean brunet looked extremely interested in what the other said. “Tonight? You sure?” 

“At the stroke of one minute, yes. If you linger, we miss it. As soon as the cry goes up, _he’ll_ know,” the black-haired figure urged, voice a growling rasp sounding from the edges of hell.

“Shit. Alright,” the brunet turned to the other bartender and said, “Frank! I’m leaving . . . cover me, will ya?” 

The other bartender glared over at his companion. “Fuck, it’ll be July Fourth in a few minutes. You’re killing me, Jimbo!”

“You’ll be fine. More tips for you,” and with that, the grey-eyed brunet slipped from behind the bar and followed the darker figure out of the club. “How did you find out about this before _him_?” he asked as they stepped into the humid July air, sounds of the club fading as they walked down the busy New York streets. 

“I got a kid in the ward I’ve got an eye on for _him_. Heard tell of an emergency coming in and followed it.” He moved swiftly, as was one of his abilities, almost a flash of light skimming around and through objects. He wasn’t teleporting or even running, Brock Rumlow was out of sync with humanity and therefore could pass right by them at his own tempo. “Over at St. Mary’s,” he mentioned to his companion.

“This could be it, Brock!” The lean man smiled, although the emotion didn’t quite reach his eyes, making it seem flat, almost uncaring. 

“So, this is really supposed to work, huh? I’ve never seen one done. Need anything special or just the right words and soul?” Brock asked, stepping back into human sync at the back entrance of the Catholic hospital. “Do I play distraction or can I watch?”

“I can handle a few nurses, Brock,” the brunet scoffed, “human minds are so easy. I don’t mind you watching . . . just don’t interfere.”

“Really gonna go through with it?” The shorter, stockier figure, he despised being called a man, queried. “Give it all up for a few years of sickness and pain?”

“I’ve lived enough lifetimes,” the taller figure sighed, his voice on the edge of melancholy, “I’m sick of working for _him_. I sick of feeling _half_ alive.” 

“Well, if _he_ lied and this doesn’t work, you know you’ll be just handing _him_ another . . . right?” Brock warned softly, out-syncing again once inside the corridors, annoyed with the limited shuffling around things humans had to do.

Frowning, James Barnes looked at one of the only people he could somewhat call a friend. “This’ll work, Brock. This one’s _pure_ . . . the other ones weren’t pure . . . they didn’t match, weren’t compatible.” 

“Yeah, it’s pure all right,” Brock responded. “Father’s a soldier who never shed the blood of the enemy and mother’s a nurse who works in the infectious ward and never contracts things. Being born in a Catholic hospital, family attends church twice a week . . . Yeah, can’t get more pure if it was born in the Vatican during Christmas Mass.”

As the two figures approached the main desk, although she could only actually see James, a young nurse smiled up to greet him. “Hello, how can I help you?”

“My sister just arrived . . . she’s having a baby . . . but she forgot to mention the room,” James offered his sly smile, tapping his fingers against the wooden surface.

“Our only arrival is Sarah Rogers?” she continued to smile, trusting. “She’s in surgery right now.”

“That’d be her . . . any news on her condition . . . or the baby’s?” James asked, leaning forward slightly. 

“She’s stable, the infant might die,” she reported sadly. “It’s early and with that accident she was in, we rushed her in for a c-section to give the baby it’s best chance. If the doctor is on schedule,” she glanced at the clock,” the delivery should actually take place at one minute after midnight. Born on the Fourth of July and all that.” She offered another smile.

“Is there someplace I can wait? I’m real scared for her and the baby,” James pulled his face into a look of concern. 

“Of course. We’ve pre-assigned her a room. You can wait there.” She looked over her list and told him where Sarah Rogers, soon-to-be mother, would be residing.

“Thank you,” James nodded and strode down the hall and into the elevator. 

Brock followed, still out-synced. He rasped, “you coulda just looked at the register. The next baby born woulda been the right one. And don’t you wanna be _in_ the delivery room so you can get it first?”

Making a small hum of agreement, James nodded and pressed the button for the correct floor. “Oh, I don’t plan on missing a minute of that birth. If the baby might not make it . . . I’ll have to work fast.”

“So you need hospital clothes quick so you can be a nurse or something for the delivery.” Brock sneered at the waste of time.

“You forget Brock,” James’ lips pulled into a devilish smirk, “humans are _so_ easy to manipulate. They’ll see what _I want_ them to see.” 

Shrugging, the darker figure gestured towards the unmoving numbers on the wall. “Broke. Our energy’s too high for the design.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “I can sync up there. It’s what, three floors? Let’s go.”

Shaking his head, James’ smile fell and his normally steel-blue eyes became washed with the black of damnation; raising a hand, the limb trembling slightly with the effort, the elevator’s gears whined and began to move again. 

“How in the nine Hells did you do that?” Brock growled low, “and what’s wrong with out-syncing? You hate out-syncing but it’s fuckin’ useful to be unseen by these _delicate_ creatures.” His derision for his former human status weighed his already low voice.

Just as the elevator stopped and the door opened, James’ eyes flickered back to their normal state and the man sagged slightly, seeming almost out of breath. “Come on, we got a delivery to catch,” he purposely avoided Brock’s questions. 

The darker demon shook his head and stepped out of the elevator with a sneer. “Quicker to out-sync, too,” he grumbled. “Meet you there.” He strode calmly through masonry and metal until he was out of sight.

Stepping into the hallway, James looked around with mild curiosity; he hadn’t been inside a hospital in over fifty years. The new technology and equipment surprised him; humans may be easy to control, but he could never get over how inventive they were. 

Grabbing a passing nurse by the bicep, James asked, “would you mind telling me where Sarah Rogers’ delivery room is?” 

She looked at the attractive man and down to her arm then lifted her eyes to his once more. “Third door down, doctor. You’re running late. The surgeon is about to start.”

“Thank you,” James let go of the nurse and walked into the third room; the smell of antiseptic and a hundred surgeries before lingered, even though the humans had tried to wash it away with their disinfectants.

James looked down at the woman in the middle of the room, already unconscious; his eyes lingered on her swollen belly. That was his ticket to humanity, his chance at a normal, _mortal_ life. 

“Good, you’ve arrived,” a male nurse said from right next to him. “Doctor, the NICU pediatrician’s here. Already gowned and scrubbed?” the nurse asked in a pleased voice.

Looking down at his street clothes, a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, James looked back at the nurse and nodded, “sure am.”

He nodded back and guided James to the side where an incubator table stood, ready for its precious bundle to arrive. Turning back to assist with the actual surgery, the nurse seemed unaware that the shadow near the incubator deepened and a light flickered then deadened; a figure slipped into that dark corner.

Brock looked at his fellow demon. “The eighth street is almost clear. _He_ won’t be distracted long enough.”

“I can handle it,” James snapped, teeth bared, “I know a few tricks to keep a pure scent off the radar.” 

“Well, I could help if you want? Take that kid over in the ward now? Make _him_ process that for a bit . . .” Brock offered darkly.

James’ eyes darkened again, the lights of the operating room flickering, and he began to mutter a string of ancient words, lips moving in a fast, breathless pace. He walked over to where Sarah lay and lifted his hand over her swollen abdomen. After a few more moments, the lights stopped flickering and his eyes warped back to his everyday color.

Oddly enough, the woman’s eyes had rolled open in her drugged state and she seemed to be staring straight at James. Her breathing remained controlled, the anesthesiologist unconcerned, but the woman seemed to see James. Her mouth tried to form words. She let out a loud scream as the knife sliced through her, and she once more passed out, sending the room full of medical staff into chaos. No one had realized she had actually woken up.

Stepping back, watching the scene unfold in front of him, James’ eyes never left the woman being operated on. He hadn’t meant to actually wake her up, just perform a special spell to dull the child’s pure scent.

“We’re losing her. We can’t wait. Get the child out now!” the surgeon gasped and quickly turned. “Doctor, grab it.” He held out the infant, covered in blood and other fluids.

Instantly, James reached out and took the baby, eyes focusing on the helpless infant.

The surgeon cut the cord in a perfunctory manner then turned back to the woman dying on the table. A nurse moved to James’ side. “Do you need help washing and drying it, doctor? I can do all the normal birth procedures if you wish?” She seemed to think he might be a new intern rather than the experienced doctor the other staff members saw.

Looking down at the baby again, James knew that now would be the time to perform the ritual . . . this was it. This was his chance. All he had to do was say a few words and then he’d have his soul back . . . he’d be able to _live_ again. But looking at this innocent, helpless child, James couldn’t form the words he’d long since memorized; he couldn’t do anything but look down at the baby. 

Despite the blood, despite the shock of being torn from the womb, the baby had yet to cry. Instead, pure blue eyes opened and seemed to focus directly on James. The nurse, in his ear, over his shoulder, said, “oh, what a lovely boy.”

In a shaky tone, James nodded and said, “yes, he is.” The brunet then proceeded to hand the baby over to the nurse, losing his chance at life . . . letting the moment he’d been waiting for for over one hundred fifty years slip through his fingers.

And the baby let out a wail that sent relieved chuckles throughout the rest of the room.

**********

“You get red truck, Bucky,” the four year old said, pushing over the large fire truck toy in front of him. Sunlight dappled his golden hair and his sapphire eyes danced with joy and life. He smiled at the corner where he sensed his angel friend. Steve had never seen his angel, but his father had told him there was an angel watching over him when his Momma was called back to heaven. So Steve knew this unseen person had to be _his_ angel. “I use green one,” he pulled over the beat up replica of a dump truck.

Arms crossed in front of his chest, James, or _Bucky_ as Steve had been known to call him, watched the little boy with a hint of a smirk on his lips. He never let the boy see him, but ever since the day he’d been born, Bucky hadn’t stopped watching him, making sure he was okay. James told Brock it was to make sure that Steve lived to the prime age for the sacrifice, that the boy would be able to handle the entire process of the ritual. However, James had come to the realization that he _liked_ to watch the boy play and go about his day. The demon figured that the blond boy would grow out of his sweetness and eventually he wouldn’t be any more fun to watch . . . that’s when he’d do the ceremony. 

Tilting his head slightly, the boy offered, “hungry, Bucky? I get food.” He pushed from the floor, butt in the air first, to rise to his little legs. “I be back.” He toddled from the well lit bedroom into the gloomier hallway and his little bare feet could be heard swishing over the carpet as he moved.

Taking a deep breath, James raised his hands, eyes turning black again, and he began to mutter the words of the protective curse that kept his Steve’s scent from other unsavory demons. The lights in the bedroom dimmed and the pictures on the wall shook with the force of the spell, a picture actually falling off from it’s place on the wall.

“How long before it’s ready then?” Brock’s rasp rumbled from the shadows of the closet. He never referred to the boy by gender; it was just another human to be played with - - though Brock kept his hands of this particular child.

Finishing the curse, the black of his eyes fading away, James sighed and shook his head, “he’s not strong enough yet. He’d die before I could complete the ritual.”

“Sucks that such a strong pure thing could be so delicate you have to wait for this.” Brock sounded uninterested, actually.

“Well,” James said, walking over to where the picture had fallen and hanging it back onto it’s nail on the wall, “I’ve waited over a hundred years for this . . . so a few more won’t hurt, right?” 

“Unless you miss protecting the creature and _he_ scents it,” Brock pointed out.

Growling almost ferally, James’ eyes filled with darkness again and he whirled around to face the other demon, “that won’t happen. I won’t let it!” 

“Right,” Brock said and glanced towards the doorway. “Damn, the thing’s coming back. Gotta scoot. So far I’m just the scary monster in the closet. Hate to see his dad try to explain me out here in the room.” Not that Brock ever showed himself to humans unless he was just about to kill them; he said they had the right to see what took them to hell. The dark-haired demon slid back into the dark recesses of the closet, syncing out of human reality once more.

Steve came in with two sandwiches clutched in his small hands, no plate. He held one out to where he sensed Bucky. “Hungry?” he asked, bringing the other one to his own lips. After a pause, he nodded and put the sandwich on the bedspread. “Okay, you eat.” He turned his back to the presence, as if he felt that would help the being’s shyness at eating in front of him.

Taking another deep breath, James made a split second decision while Steve’s back was turned and picked up the sandwich. He took a big bite, the dull flavors, like all food he consumed, felt dry in his mouth and was hard to swallow. Placing the sandwich back on the bed, James muttered, “see ya tomorrow, kid.” And then he out-synced and left the room. 

Steve turned around and beamed in delight. “Good. Good boys eat.” He walked over to where he could no longer sense the being and picked up the food and finished it off for his _‘friend’_. He wouldn’t want dinner that night, but the four year old didn’t think about cause and effect that way. He just knew that Bucky had finally eaten something, and that made Steve very happy.

**********

A body-wracking cough shook the eight year old as he lay trembling under several blankets with yet another bout of the flu. Steve often got sick in the winters; the doctors said his lungs hadn’t fully formed by the time he’d had to be delivered in emergency c-section. He was fortunate to be alive, they said: his mother had died on the table due to the injuries they’d received in the car accident. Steve wound up with compromised lungs and a low growth rate. He was smaller than his fellow third graders, often sick, and therefore just tutored at home by a man who came for six hours a day. But there would be no tutor that day; Steve was far too ill.

When the coughing eased and Steve could catch his breath, he whispered, “Bucky? Ya there?” and he waited as if to sense something. Softly, not feeling the presence of his angel, but knowing it couldn’t be far, Steve said, “I think Da’s going to take me to the hospital tonight.” He coughed and gasped.

Walking through the wall, a frown on his face and steel-blue eyes worried, James looked down at the boy. “Sick again, Steve?” He asked quietly, knowing full-well that Steve couldn’t hear or see him.

A smile of pure angelic joy lit Steve’s pale, sweaty features. “Heya, Bucky,” he coughed as he felt the being arrive. “I was just saying, Da’s gonna take me to the hospital tonight. The doctor said he’s gonna put me in a big machine to do my breathing while they try to find something better. Da said something about new lungs, but I’m scared.”

Frown deepening, James walked over to the edge of the bed and looked down at the sickly boy. New lungs? A machine to do his breathing?

“Every time I go back to the hospital, there’s the monster there. Not the one from the closet you keep away but a bigger one. He doesn’t come in my room, but I think he’s looking for me. And he scares me.” The little boy plucked at the blankets feebly. “He never comes here. But he’s always _there_.”

Eyes widening, James’ breath hitched, had _he_ found Steve? The demon had been so careful, everyday for the last eight years he’d put the protective curse on Steve and the home . . . there was no way _he’d_ found Steve. Knowing that the little boy couldn’t go to the hospital that night, or hopefully ever again, James knelt down by the side of the bed and lifted both hands over the blond’s bony chest.

“Your warm, Bucky,” Steve could sense the being very close and he smiled. He coughed again, body curling.

“Don’t worry, Steve . . . I’ll make all the pain go away,” James murmured as his eyes flickered to their depth-less black. His hands trembled as he performed the complicated curse, one that would heal Steve’s lungs. This type of curse was far above what James normally did, his whole body strained and fought to keep it going as Steve’s lung tissue grew and healed.

As if sensing the import of the event, or just plain drained to utter exhaustion by his bad health, Steve fell silent and stayed absolutely still in the bed. He had always trusted his angel, Bucky, and he did, wholeheartedly, this moment, even if he couldn’t understand the twisting blossoming burn in his chest.

Gasping, hands violently shaking, James finished the spell and leaned his head against the edge of the bed, hands falling to rest on the boy’s chest, though he made it so Steve couldn’t actually feel the pressure of the weight.

The searing had gotten to the point where Steve fought not to cry out and then it . . . dissipated. He took a tentative breath and for the first time in his life, he felt he could breath. There was no feeling of moist cloth in the way, no tight sharp pains low down in the lungs, no muffled rasping dullness preventing him from feeling like he had enough air. Pure blue eyes opening wide as he continued to draw and release breath after breath, Steve whispered, “thank you, Bucky. You can sleep in my bed if you’re tired. I got plenty o’ room, I’m so small.” He never questioned the idea that his angel had given him this gift.

Body exhausted from the curse, James shakily stood on trembling legs and quickly performed the protective spell; though the effort took a lot out of him; the demon couldn’t risk him finding Steve . . . not a chance in hell.

“You ain’t mad at me are you?” Steve asked, eyes wide as the pictures rattled and the one of Momma fell to the floor. “I can sleep on the floor if you want the bed yourself, Bucky.” Steve slid from the bed without warning, pulling a thin blanket with him. “You lay down and sleep. I’ll watch over you this time. I can be _your_ angel.” He curled in the blanket, sitting against the bed frame.

Shuffling over to the bed, James carefully lay down, not wanting to touch Steve, the amount of effort it took to keep himself out of sync draining the last of his energy. He figured if the boy did see him on accident, James could simply wipe the memory away . . . but something about manipulating the blond’s mind made the demon’s stomach churn. So far, Steve had been the only human he _hadn’t_ manipulated.

Steve watched the bed with a tired smile as he saw slight hints that his angel was using it: the wrinkle in a sheet, the bare tug of the pillow. Contented to be able to allow his being a safe spot to rest, Steve picked up his drawing paper and crayons and began to draw what he imagined his angel looked like. He’d never seen the being he sensed so often, but Steve had a picture in his mind.

Slowly, in great care, the figure of a male, wingless, took shape. Colors weren’t important to Steve’s vision, so he just picked up the brown and colored hair on the figure. The eyes were a problem, but Steve finally settled on black, because it was bold and would stand out. He drew jeans and a t-shirt on his angel, because that was Steve’s personal favorite outfit to wear. Smiling, he drew a smaller figure, himself, with big blue eyes and a shock of yellow hair. The figures weren’t touching, but they were close enough that they might reach out at any moment to do so. Pleased with his work, the child nodded and wrote in careful letters, _‘for my angel BUCKY’_ then put it on the bed near the pillow. He let his eyes slide to the closet, where he could sense the monster lurking. But tonight, Steve would brave that monster to protect his sleeping angel.

Eyes sliding shut, body completely spent, Bucky curled up on the bed and murmured softly, “goodnight, Stevie.” 

In the hall, Joseph Rogers frowned when he couldn’t hear his son coughing. He walked in to find the boy on the floor in one thin blanket. Worried, he checked on the child, only to be stunned at how clear and easily the child breathed. Confused, but worried, he took the child gently to his own bed to curl protectively around him in sleep, praying Steve would remain in this mysterious health and not take a dramatic turn for the worse.

**********

Groaning lowly, James’ whole body ached and he felt so weak. That curse had taken more out of him than he thought it would. Stretching, his brows pulled down when his hand crumpled against a piece of paper. Sitting up slowly, James grabbed the picture Steve had drawn and smiled softly, his eyes displaying the most emotion they’d shown in over a century.

“That thing creeps me out,” Brock rumbled from the center of the room. He was squatting in the middle of the floor, in the normal pose he took when simply waiting for long hours. There was no sign of Steve or his thin blanket and the closet door remained wide open.

“Funny. The great Brock Rumlow creeped out by an eight year old little boy,” James teased, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, well, he looks at me, you know? And even outta sync, I almost think he can see me. Creeps me the hell out.” Brock shrugged nonchalantly and rose slowly to his feet.

Standing up, having to use the bed to help him, James groaned again, “ _He_ was with Steve at the hospital last time. _He's_ looking, Brock.”

“ _He_ always is, James. _He_ always goes walking the place looking into the kid’s wards. Never went into your pet’s room, though. I always found a way to distract _him_. And I think _he_ can’t quite smell where it is.” Brock popped his shoulder muscles then his neck.

Looking over at the other demon, James shook his head, “why are you helping me? If _he_ found out . . . “

“What? _He_ gonna throw me in hell? Make me serve another millennia? News flash, James, already there.” Brock grinned, his black eyes nearly glowing in unholy glee. “Nah, I’m helping you cause you promised I could see this ritual when you do it. Is the kid strong enough now? When you regain your energy, you gonna take it out?”

James’ whole body shuddered; the thought of taking Steve’s soul made him queasy, “no . . . he needs to gain his strength. Why do you think I healed his lungs?”

“Huh, thought it was so it wouldn’t go to the hospital and be found by _him_ ,” Brock countered. “By the way, it’s in it’s father’s room. It actually wanted to challenge me last night, can you believe the guts? Little fighter, that one.” Brock sounded pleasantly impressed for once with a human child; most of the time he felt they were just delicate little playthings too scared to be much interest.

Smiling softly, James walked over to Brock, picture still in hand, and clapped the other demon on the shoulder with his free hand, “let’s get outta here . . . get some grub?” Although food never particularly tasted good, they both needed it to stay strong, and James could really use any help he could get in that field right then.

Brock nodded his dark head. “Sure. I know a nice little place just opened up down on Broadway. Plenty of people to feel the energy of, too.” He glanced at the drawing and snorted. “Not bad for a whelp. Maybe it’ll be another Michelangelo.”

Folding the picture and putting it in his back pocket, James grinned, “got more of the Andy Warhol vibe myself.”

Snickering, Brock grabbed Bucky’s arm tightly then un-synced them and guided his weakened friend out of the building and down to the ground. He waited until they were well away from Brooklyn before he synced them back in and let the other demon go. “There ya go, don’t say I don’t treat ya right, James. Free ride on my own energy and all.”

“What would I do without you?” James asked on an exaggerated sigh, leaning into the burly demon.

“Get caught, get your power and energy taken, and get thrown in the pain pit, James.” Brock’s tone was serious, not a hint of teasing.

Pulling away slightly, James nodded, “yeah, well, I - -” the brunet looked around and lowered his tone, “I think I’m almost strong enough to take the bastard, Brock. Send _him_ to the pit.” 

“Yeah? _He’s_ been around for thousands of years and you’re what? One hundred and sixty maybe? Yeah, real strong, James,” Brock snorted and slapped James lightly on the back, not letting him stumble as Brock grabbed him to balance him after. “Let’s eat, Mr. Powerful.”


	2. Decisions and Plots

Staring at the small tin box in his hands, Steve debated whether he should really open it. The fourteen year old bit his full lip and toyed with the image. He could be one of the _cool boys_ at school, that’s what Jack had said, why the older boy had given him the secret stash. But, somehow, Steve didn’t feel right about it. Sure, everyone smoked pretty much. It was 1997 and the end was supposed to be only a couple years away anyway. But . . . he really didn’t like the idea of smelling like that stuff and . . . coughing.

“Seriously?!” James growled in frustration, “I give ya a new pair of freaking lungs and you’re thinking about smoking?”

. . . coughing like he did when he was eight . . . and his angel, his Bucky, had saved him. Frowning, Steve shook his head. He stood up and peeked out to the hall, to make sure no one was coming. Almost silently in his bare feet, Steve headed into the bathroom, opened the box over the toilet, and dumped all the cigarettes into the bowl. He watched as they began to warp and melt from the water on the paper. Finally, Steve hit the flush and watched the stuff get swept away in a big pile of toxic mess.

He took a deep breath and smiled. “Hey, Bucky, betcha you saw that, huh?” He chuckled low. “Yeah, it was a close thing for a moment or two. Pretty stupid huh?” By this time, Steve no longer talked to his angel in public; people thought he was weird. And he’d stopped expecting an answer a couple years ago. But he never stopped sensing when the being came around to check on him. Every day the pictures would rattle and Momma’s would fall from the wall. Steve had no idea if that meant Bucky was upset or just saying hello, but Steve waited eagerly for that sign anyway.

“Damn right,” James grumbled, leaning against the wall; he ran his fingers through his growing hair . . . Brock was constantly bugging him to get it cut . . . saying he looked like those _‘damn hippies.’_

“Jack said it’d make me cool and I’d be accepted by the girls and stuff.” The blond teen sighed, closed the box, and carried it back to his room to hide in the closet under his old shoes. “But then I suddenly thought of how you helped me breathe. And I knew that if a girl wants me to cough smoke at her, she couldn’t be worth it. Not if an angel wants me to breathe, right?” He sank down at his drawing desk, a fairly new gift he’d received from his father during his birthday that year.

“Maybe I should have Brock visit this Jack guy . . . scare the shit outta the little twerp,” James muttered, “Brock hasn’t had some good fun in a while.”

“Besides, Da wold wallop me big time if I did anything that dumb.” The blond began to draw his favorite subject: his invisible angel, Bucky. Over the years, he’d switched from crayons to markers to pens and pencils. Bucky had taken on all shapes and sizes, different weights, different hair colors, even different animal traits. But in the end, Steve didn’t seem to really care what his angel looked like, just that the hidden protector continued to watch over him. He liked having an angel. “You know, Gran says that you’re probably Momma watching from Heaven. But I told her you’re a boy. She doesn’t believe me.”

At the mention of Sarah Rogers, James’ eyes darkened and the room seemed to pulse with his grief. He’d really never meant to kill her . . . even if he’d originally gone into the delivery room to take Steve’s pure soul . . . Sarah had never been the direct target. The pictures shook and once again the frame holding a shot of the woman fell to the floor. Even the bed began to tremble with the force of the demon’s power, raw with the guilt.

“Uh,” Steve looked up from his drawing and frowned. “Hey, I’m sorry, Buck. I didn’t mean to make you unhappy. I can change the subject.” He slid from his desk to retrieve his mother’s picture and lay it, face up, on the dresser. “I’m going to be starting sculpting this semester. I think that’ll be cool. I mean, I’m not sure if I’ll be any good. I prefer pen and paper, but it might be neat to try to make stuff out of clay.”

He chuckled and sank onto the edge of his bed, nearer the energy he sensed. “Hey, remember when I tried to make that dog out of Play-doh? That was a total disaster! I even got it in my hair and Da had to cut it all off. I looked like I’d come home from his boot camp training company or something.”

Eyes slowly clearing, James smirked at the memory and the energy in the room began to settle down to a low hum.

At the feeling of energy change, Steve smile wider. He might never hear his angel speak, but he had gotten fairly good at telling when Bucky was emotional, even if he wasn’t too sure of which emotion it was . . . it always _felt_ dulled, just intense. Suddenly, at the darker feeling from the closet Steve had grown used to, the monster to balance out the angel, he figured, Steve turned and looked directly at the open door. He _never_ liked that door shut, always wanting to be able to see in there. He figured that if he one day _saw_ what made the dark energy, that was the day he would probably die, and Steve wanted to fight that off if he could.

“He’s back, Buck,” Steve said, low and steady, watching the apparently empty closet.

Looking over to the closet, James shook his head at Brock, “you again? I’m starting to think you like my boy just as much as I do.”

“ _He’s_ asking questions,” Brock said softly, eyes flickering over the teenager then back to the demon. “Says the count is wrong, that there’s got to be one missed.”

James paled, his nervous energy coming off himself in waves.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice dropped to a near whisper. He’d never sensed that energy from his angel, even with the monster in the closet. Yeah, at fourteen he still _knew_ there was a monster in the closet. “Buck? Are you in trouble? I can help if he’s getting too . . . powerful? Is that the right word?”

Snarling, James’ eyes blackened and the room shook with the force of the protective curse he muttered, stronger than any of the other’s he’d performed.

Blue eyes widening, Steve looked around, clutching his bed as the room shook more violently than he ever recalled. “Uh . . . Bucky? I . . . That wasn’t because of me this time, was it?” He glanced at the space where he sensed his powerful guardian. “It’s not _this_ monster that’s bothering you, either,” Steve’s tone was suddenly certain.

As soon as he’d finished, his eyes didn’t change back like they normally did; whirling around to completely face Brock, James growled low and almost threateningly, “c’mon . . . gotta pay the old man a visit.”

“Get bloody first. You reek of purity.” Brock out-synced and walked from the house down to the ground to wait for Bucky to follow.

Without looking back at Steve, James followed the other demon out, his anger radiating off him. He wouldn’t let _him_ get Steve . . . no matter what.

“Let’s go find some poor schmuck to drag to hell, shall we?” James snarled as he made it to Brock’s side.

**********

Standing in a glittering office of chrome and glass, Pierce Alexander studied the roll of papers before him, blue eyes skimming over the columns of figures. His strawberry blond hair was just beginning to gray at the temples and the lines on his face denoted either a life of laughter or long hours in the sun squinting, giving him a friendly, wholesome appearance. His Armani suit hugged him where it should and hung where design allowed, and he wore it like he was born to it. A gold and pearl rolex graced one wrist, denoting more than most things his excessive wealth.

Glancing up, Pierce offered a smile towards the elevator door, a moment before it slid open. “James, it’s been a long while. Fourteen? Fifteen years perhaps?”

“Not long enough,” James growled as he stepped into the large office, he’d never hidden his distaste for the man who’d taken everything from him. 

“So, have you come out of your snit concerning the school bus accident you generously helped cause?” The man, if one could call him such, smiled lightly, his tone conversational, as he ignored Brock hovering in the elevator and turned his full attention to the demon in front of him.

“You never told me we were going after a bus full of children,” James snapped, eyes flashing but not completely turning black. 

“Prepubescents experimenting with drugs with their driver, no less. They would have spiraled anyway. What is the saying? _Like a bandage, make it quick?_ And you did. There were no lingering screams of pain or fear. Very _un_ satisfactory, James, I might say.” The powerful being shook his head. “Go away,” he flicked a hand and the elevator shut closed, sending Brock back to the first floor, denied an audience.

James held his head high, not giving the powerful demon the satisfaction of looking the least bit intimidated. 

“Is there a reason for your visit? A problem you wish to discuss? Or are you here for a _higher_ calling?” Alexander laughed at his own private joke and moved back to his columns of numbers.

“Your columns,” James stated firmly, “they’re right. I heard you were having some _concerns_.” 

“You heard correctly, James. There is an infant missing, actually. A girl child, is what my sources say, who was supposed to be born about the time you went into your little tantrum and began giving me the _silent_ treatment.” Pierce looked at James.

“What can I say?” James lifted his hands in a mockingly pacifying manner, “you’re just _such_ a joy to be around. I can't spoil myself too often.”

The older being snorted and shook his head, finger trailing down the column he referred to. “And you might see if you chose to come closer and stop avoiding me like some petulant child, this woman, Sarah Rogers, had twins. One was live, a boy I’ve been told,” he flicked his hand uncaring since the child’s scent never seemed to register any purity. That boy would be hell bent, no doubt. “And a girl . . . who died. Or was supposed to. But she is missing. And Sarah was carrying purity. If I had not been delayed with that accident in Manhattan, I would have been there myself to collect the girl.”

Eyes widening only slightly, James’ fingers twitched by his side, _twin_? He could’ve taken the girl’s soul and saved himself all this trouble with Steve . . . had the girl been a pure soul . . . he could’ve been _alive_ for the last fourteen years. 

Looking up slowly, so slowly it was obviously a calculated move, Pierce said, softly, “ _someone_ has been tampering with my figures and I have just discovered it. It is a matter of time before I find out who . . . and no doubt find the child.”

“Well, I pity the poor demon that dare mess with you, Pierce,” James’ lips pulled into his signature sly smirk. 

“You were unaccounted for that night, James.” Pierce didn’t even drop his eyes but his finger fell on the right spot on his papers. “July third of 1983 by human timing. Where were you?” his voice purred out. “What were you about, my little James?”

James’ jaw ticked but he kept his composure, “working at some bar . . . name slips my mind. I’ve worked so _many_ jobs.” 

“Of course it does,” Alexander continued his light purring tone. “Still scouting for a soul to trade, James? Did you try for the girl and kill her all wrong, again, like the others? And you’ve hidden this from me?” His blue eyes narrowed as he watched the younger demon.

“I assure you, I did no such thing . . . but you bet your ass I’m still trying to get my soul, _that you stole from me_ , back.” James’ eyes finally blackened, face turning into a vicious snarl. 

Laughter rippled from the man, infectious to some, eerie to others. “Stole? No, my dear, you gave it to me.”

“You lied to me!” James shouted, the items on Pierce’s desk beginning to shake with the demon’s anger.

“You are a fool, James,” the older demon stopped laughing, stopped smiling. “Did you think a demon would tell the truth? Pathetic!”” He waved his finger and the items from his desk scattered with a force that broke many against the far walls. “Leave here until you have something worthy of my time.” The elevator slid open with a snap.

James felt himself shoved backwards, back colliding forcibly with the wall of elevator. 

Before the doors could slide shut once more, Alexander Pierce purred out, menacingly, “Oh, and James? If you _are_ hiding the pure child of Sarah and Joseph Rogers, I _will_ find out. And you will lose everything you think you have gained.” With the flick of one finger, the elevator snapped shut and flung down, speeding ever faster towards the lobby of the great tower as if it would break the ground and sink into hell itself.

**********

Looking up as the elevator opened, Brock stood from the cramped plastic waiting chair in the lobby. He looked over his friend and sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Go well?”

Grabbing the sleeve of Brock’s leather jacket and hauling the other demon out of the building, James guided his friend down the street until he was sure they were far enough away. Pulling the darker-haired man into an alley, James shoved Brock up against the brick wall, eyes completely black, “there was a fucking _twin_! You were still there when I left! Where is she?” James growled low. 

“I couldn’t do anything about it. You know that pretty little brunet who helped you with your pet? She was on the other side the whole time. _She_ took the brat.” Brock didn’t fight James’ grip.

“And this just happened to slip your mind?” James’ grip on the other demon’s shirt tightened. 

Brock shook his head, not looking afraid, just annoyed. “Not a bit. But, I figured if it was protected by _them_ , there was nothing I could do, or you for that matter. That one was lost to us, so I didn’t worry about it.”

Letting go of the stockier demon, James punched the wall next to Brock’s head, the brick cracking and caving with the force of the blow. 

Not flinching, merely sighing and smoothing down the lines of his jacket, the burly demon said “I didn’t think to tell the bookkeepers since we couldn’t get to it.”

“Pierce is gonna find out!” James snapped, fingers twitching to _hurt_ something.

Lifting his black eyes, Brock shrugged. “Like he can do anything about getting it back from _them_? Let him look. Won’t happen.”

“You are naive, Brock. There are ways to get around angels,” James sighed and shook his head.

“Sex and murder are the only two I know,” Brock shrugged. “And I sure as hell don’t think they’ll fall for that bastard.”

“There are curses . . . ones I couldn’t even dream of doing . . . but Pierce? He sure as hell will be able to.” 

Nodding, still seeming to miss the seriousness James felt about this, Brock said, “so, he’s busy fighting _them_ to get it and you and your pet are ignored. Perfect.”

“Wake the fuck up, Brock! If Pierce goes up against the fucking _angels_ . . . we as a whole fucking group are going down! He’s going to start a war!” James’ black eyes snapped back up to look at the other demon.

Sighing, Brock shook his head. “So, he’s looking for a pure kid from that lady who died, right? You wanna stop a war? Give him your pet. That’ll make him happy.”

Before he could even stop himself, James punched Brock hard across the jaw. 

The stockier demon, taken by surprise, went down to his knees, looking stunned. “What the fuck!”

“Steve is _mine_ ,” James growled, teeth bared. 

Brock rolled his eyes, pulling his hand from his mouth and spitting out a tint of blood, dark, almost black. “Yeah? Not like I want the bleater. Can’t sex a fuckin kid, can I? That kinda shit’s for perveted _humans_.”

“You so as much as mention Steve to Pierce, I will make sure to escort you to the depths of hell,” James snarled, his whole body tense and his violent energy thickening the air. 

“Now why would I fuckin mention that little bleater to _him_? I wanna see your fuckin ritual don’t I?” Brock pushed himself up, steadying himself on the dirtied bricks of the foul smelling alley. “Besides, after helping you hide the brat this long, Pierce would have my energy, too. So, I’m in it up to my neck. _He_ doesn’t care if someone tells, that person knows? That person goes down.” Brock offered a disgusted glare at his friend.

“I gotta idea if you wanna hear it, James.” Brock straightened up and dusted his ass off.

Not saying anything, James looked over at Brock expectantly. 

Nodding, the burly black-haired demon lowered his voice and leaned in closer. “Well, we get this girl from the angels and give her to Pierce.”

“How the fuck are we supposed to kidnap a kid from angels?” James snapped, sounding exasperated.

“Like I know that? If I knew that, I could take on fucking Gabriel and rule this place.” Brock threw his hands in the air. “How’d you get her to give you the pet in the first place? That angel in the surgery room?”

“I was manipulating all of them . . .” James’ eyebrows pulled down in thought.

“An angel? Please, James, you weren’t _that_ strong then. Probably not even now.” Brock shook his head.

“I don’t know!” James threw his hands up in the air, “it has something to do with Steve - - I’m . . . stronger?” 

“Look, two pure kids were born that night, but he only knows about one. The humans are blind. So, the only other one who knows is that angel,” Brock hissed. “She let you keep the kid for some reason. Now, I say we find this damned angel and find out what she’s doing. Maybe . . .” Brock took a deep breath and slowly said, “maybe she’s ready to fall . . .”

“Brock . . . I - - I’ve never taken an angel’s wings before . . . hell, I’ve never seen an angel’s wings be taken before. It ain’t a walk in the park . . . even if she does it willingly.” James shook his head. 

“Yeah, but if she’s looking to let a demon seduce her . . . hey, her choice, right?” Brock licked his lips. “Maybe you got under her halo or something, James. You _are_ pretty as sin.”

James shook his head, looking apprehensive; his eyes faded to their normal steel-blue, “okay . . . alright. First thing we need to do is find that angel. I’ll go back to the hospital, get her employment records. You keep your ear to the ground, see if there’s an angel looking to fall.”

Brock nodded. “You betcha. I’ll go ask around. Maybe Natasha knows. Anyone looking to fall, Nat knows.” He rose into the air, and quickly synced through buildings on his quest to find the former angel Natasha.

**********

James held up his hands as he was patted down by a scowling fallen angel, looking over at the vibrant redhead, the demon shook his head, a playful smirk on his lips, “is this _really_ necessary, Natasha? I thought we were becoming rather _close_ friends?” James waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

Watching impassively as her guest was searched for anything of a forbidden nature, Natasha, former angel, kept her pose relaxed, feet on the simple mahogany desk, stretched out in her matching chair. “It wouldn’t be necessary if you left _him_ and joined me here, Yasha,” she purred, using her favorite nickname for the demon.

Shooting a cold glare to the other fallen angel after a unnessarily rough pat to the back, James pulled away, straightening his jacket.

“Leave,” Natasha ordered her entourage and they obeyed without word, without protest. She smoothly stood and sat on the edge of the expensive desk. “You came all this way for what, Yasha,” she offered the hint of a smile.

“I need some information,” James said, he looked at the fallen angel, steel-blue eyes serious, despite the smirk on his lips. 

“More ancient obscure texts concerning escaping _him_?” She sounded bored and a bit disappointed.

“Not this time, Nat,” James looked down at his nails, “I’m looking for a particular angel . . . she has some information that I need. Brock and I think she may be looking to fall.”

Smirking, Natasha lightly asked, “and you feel I have knowledge on where every angel might be hunting? And which one has specific demon-necessary knowledge you need?” Amusement lurked in her mix-colored eyes.

“She worked as a nurse down at St. Mary’s during the year 1983. Helped with the birth of a set of pure twins,” James offered what little details he knew about the angel he sought. 

Eyes widening just a fraction, the only indication she ever gave of surprise, the fallen angel leaned closer and spoke carefully, “two? And _he_ is looking for them?”

“I got one handled already, he can’t find the boy. I’m looking for the girl, who happens to be guarded by some angels.” 

“Well, if the child is with angels, _he_ won’t get to her,” Nat confirmed what Brock had already stated. “It’ll cause a war bigger than even _he_ is ready for.”

Quirking a brow, James shook his head, “he’s desperate, Natasha.” 

“Unless . . .” she trailed off, looking past her demon friend. Standing, Natasha walked over to a floor-to-ceiling wall shelf of ancient tomes. “You do recall that I don’t kill children, correct?” she said conversationally, finger running down the line of books at eye level without actually touching any. “If _he’s_ sent you for this pure child, I won’t give her up.”

“Please, Nat,” James scoffed, “I _don’t_ want him getting hold of another pure soul. I’ve been hiding the boy from him for fourteen years. Do you really think I’d just hand over the girl?”

“Perhaps if you want to keep hiding the boy you would use the girl as a distraction,” she murmured without conviction. Hand stopping over a dull brown leather book, Nat paused then gently slipped it from it’s place. “And if you want to protect her, leaving her with the angels is a better bet than hiding her with demons, Yasha. He’ll smell the purity in her where it’s not hidden by angel scent.” She walked back to her desk and sank gracefully to her chair, laying the book flat on the desk. “Might even be better to hand the boy to the angels, too. That’d keep him hidden.”

James’ eyes darkened immediately at the suggestion, “I am quite capable of keeping the boy hidden. The angels would just smother him.” 

Quirking a finely arched brow, Natasha looked at James. “Why would you think that?”

“It’s what all you angels do. Keep the pure things hidden from the world to keep them from becoming tainted,” James’ eyes didn’t change back, the black orbs staring menacingly at the fallen angel.

“And you call that smothering?” her voice sounded lightly amused. “He won’t remain pure with a demon guardian, Yasha. If you think you can keep him so, you are naive. And, I am not an angel. I fell before you were born.”

“I haven’t tainted him yet and I’ve been watching him every single day for the last fourteen years. This one’s the real deal, Nat. Haven’t felt one like this since . . .” James shook his head. 

“Yes, and we know how that turned out,” she cut him off. Sliding open the book, fingers careful on the old parchment, Nat said, “so, you wish to ask an angel about this girl? What do you hope to find out?”

“ _This angel_ let me touch the boy, Natasha, she must’ve known I was a demon,” his eyes flickered back to their normal state, anger subsiding. 

Eyes snapping up from her book, surprise in their changeable depths, the former angel frowned severely. “What do you mean _‘let you touch him?’_ No angel _lets_ a demon touch an infant, especially a _pure_ one.”

“I was in the delivery room room . . . for another purpose . . . but then the baby was born,” James took a deep breath, “and she let me hold him.” 

“You wanted his soul, didn’t you?” she challenged.

Looking intently at the fallen angel, James nodded once, “yes. He’s the only compatible soul we’ve come across in over a century.” 

“We?” She snorted lightly and began flitting through her book again. “So you’ve got Brock as a flunkie on this. Good, that should keep him busy.” With a sigh, Nat looked up. “So, you wish to perform the ritual . . .”

“I _need_ it back, Natasha,” his voice took a slightly pleading tone, “I can’t live like this anymore. Half alive and wandering the Earth.” 

“How did you even hear of such a thing, Yasha. It’s not _his_ habit to give away knowledge on how to escape _him_.” Nat let her finger rest on a single line of ancient runes and glyphs.

“He told me . . . said I’d never find a soul compatible with mine so it didn’t matter,” James growled and ran his fingers through his hair, tugging slightly. 

Nat nodded. “That makes sense. He was teasing you.” She shrugged lightly. “Well, he lied to you.”

“What?” James snapped, “what do you mean?” 

“An infant, even pure, cannot be used for the ritual. All you would do is damn you both worse than before. The pure soul has to be of consenting ability. Thirty-three years human, no younger. Older isn’t so desirable, either, but can still work if the being is really pure.” Nat glanced up at James, meeting his eyes, honesty in her own swirling depths.

James’ jaw ticked and his fingers twitched by his sides, “thirty-three?” 

“Yes, it is the age of sacrifice, isn’t it? After all, He gave His son at that same age,” she sat back in her chair, finger lifting from the page. “How many children did _he_ have you kill because of _his_ lies, James? And _he_ keeps stringing you along, making your debt deeper and deeper.” 

Leaning against the wall, his eyes returning back to their black state, the room trembling with the force of his demonic anger, James looked genuinely upset, betrayed and furious. He’d killed countless children, innocent children, in an attempt to take back his soul . . . all the while, Pierce _knew_ about the limitations.

Shaking her head, seemingly unbothered by the display of power and emotion, Nat touched the book again. “The angel that was on shift that night was called Margaret.”

“But _mine_ . . .” James muttered, the room stopped shaking, but his eyes did not clear, “ _he_ took mine when I was only twenty-five? How is that possible?” 

“And _he_ wasn’t looking to get his own back, Yasha. He was looking to use you as his proxy, so that you, naive passionate you, would take more children for him. Once you had reached the age of thirty-three, you would have been practically useless for his crusade against the children.” She spoke matter-of-factly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” James shouted, voice quaking in his fury, “all those children! Those lives I took! You never said anything!” The room began to quake again, the books on the shelves nearly falling off. 

“Because, Yasha,” and Natasha rose to her full height, though it was nowhere near as tall as his. She planted her hands on the desk and the room began to shake harder, displaying the power of one of the oldest fallen angels since the initial fall. “Even fallen, I cannot break His commands. I cannot give information I am forbidden to speak of! If you hadn’t come to me about saving these two children, my lips would have been yet sealed!”

James fell to his knees, letting out a pained gasp, his eyes still black but he no longer shook the room. 

She let her power dissipate, her emotions dulling once more. “Now, you wish to talk to this Margaret about the child she has? Fine. It will take some time to locate her, though. Until then, you should stop killing children. Take only dissolute criminals and evil things. If you’ve managed to hide a pure soul for fourteen years from _him_ you can find a way to start erasing that debt by using your abilities to balance the scales.” She narrowed her eyes. “Stop being so selfish and look around you a bit. See how you can make _his_ power less before you do your ritual and lose all power to thwart _him_. No one said a demon can’t do good, Yasha, even with death and destruction.”

Not moving from his place on the floor, his chest heaving and hands shaking, James said, his voice vicious and determined, “I plan to send that bastard to the lowest circle of hell.” 

“Good, I’m sure Samiel would be pleased to see his most powerful servant back again.” She closed her book and picked it up. “Would you care for anything else, James? I have a few more minutes to spare.”

Slowly rising to his feet, his jaw set and eyes returning to normal, James looked at the fallen angel. “I need a way to channel my abilities. If I plan to go up against Pierce himself . . . I need to be stronger, Nat.” 

Slowly, a merciless smile crossed her beautiful features. “That, I _can_ do, Yasha. If you can keep off his radar for four years, I will have something crafted specifically for your energy. You will need to practice with it far from the city to learn how to use it, but I can have it done by the time your boy reaches his eighteenth birthday.”

Nodding, James straightened his jacket and smoothed his t-shirt.

Softly, almost inaudibly, Natasha said, “I want something in return.”

Quirking a brow, James looked at the redhaired beauty, “Now what could a demon possibly do for a fallen angel, Natasha?” 

“I want a soul, too. A specific one. It must be a fighter. It must be noble, though pure is not needed at all. And it must be close to your boy. Someone he cares for.” She crossed her arms.

“Why?” James asked, interested in the request, “What does a fallen angel need with a soul.”

She rolled her eyes. “You have questions beyond your need to know, Yasha. Let us say that I, too, have a ritual I wish to perform. One that will increase my . . . holdings. But I need this soul to do so.”

Giving the fallen angel a lazy, two-fingered salute, James lips pulled into his signature smirk and he said, “your wish is my command, my dear.” 

Nodding, Nat, put her book carefully back on the shelf. “Then you will return in four years for your channel and when the time is right, you will allow me the soul I seek.”


	3. Changes or Fate

Arms crossed firmly in front of his chest, James stood under the shade of a large tree where he had a clear view of the stage. Of course, he was out-of-sync with society, none of the humans surrounding him could see him. His steel-blue eyes searched the crowd of teenagers dressed in green and black gowns, with those silly caps on top of each their heads. 

He watched as Steve delivered the Valedictorian speech, standing taller than even most of the adults at the ceremony; the blond had hit his growth spurt in the last few years. A small smile tugged on James’ lips as he knew that he’d been responsible for the change of health, having given the blond a chance to grow strong.

Smiling as he closed his speech, Steve flushed when the students cheered and the adults clapped heartily. Nodding his appreciation of the accolades, the blond moved the tassel to the other side of his cap, signaling the other students to follow suit, then he curled his hand around the leather folder containing his diploma and made his way from the stage. Sinking into his chair amid the well-wishes and comments of his peers, the eighteen year old glanced to the side, where he was sure he sensed both his angel and the closet monster who never seemed far, either. Steve gave a small smile for his Bucky then turned back to talk to yet another well wisher.

“Good speech . . . not too preachy . . . was getting a little worried from the rough drafts I saw,” James commented to the other demon standing nearby.

Brock snorted and nodded. “Yeah, short and very direct. Like that. Well, it’s a grown up now. No longer useful. You waited too long, James.” The dark-haired demon shrugged. “Means he’s ripe for sex.”

Turning to look at Brock, eyes flashing dangerously, the leaner brunet growled, “If you so much as touch him, I will erase you from existence.”

Rolling his eyes, Brock shook his head. “I don’t want him, James. I was talking about the girls and guys buzzing around him. Not gonna stay pure if he starts sleeping around. And going off to college or whatever? Yeah, drugs, sex, and rock and roll, as they say.” Brock eyed a dark-haired boy sitting next to Steve’s spot, being alphabetical in the chairs. “You said a few years ago you’d let me have his friend, right?”

“Didn’t you hear? Steve’s gonna join the military . . . follow in ol’ daddy’s footsteps,” James’ eyes flickered to the boy Brock gestured towards and snorted, “yeah, whatever. Have your wicked way with him. That soul is already hellbound.” 

“Yeah, ain’t he ever,” Brock licked his lips. “So, if your pet’s gonna get himself shot up in a war, I don’t have to play closet monster anymore, right?”

“I’m going over there with him, you keep Pierce busy over here,” James eyes return to rest on the muscular blond.

“Really? You leaving the city?” Brock looked at his fellow demon mildly surprised. “You’re gonna go mess with a bunch of soldiers?” Then he barked out a dark, rumble of laughter. “Oh! You wanna keep your pet from discovering gay sex with a bunch of rangers. Smart. Won’t keep him pure forever, but you might keep him that way a year or more.”

“I’m going over there to make sure the idiot doesn’t get himself killed, Brock. Can’t perform the ritual on a corpse, now can I?”

“No, but if you take the sister instead, you can perform _other_ things on the boy.” Brock grinned wickedly. “That is a body meant for sin, James.”

Not for the first time in the last couple years since Steve had hit his growth spurt, James’ eyes trailed down the fit form and hummed in agreement. “Nat said she finally found that damn angel. I’m meeting with her later tonight, actually.”

“So, the angel gave you a pure kid and never fell? Go figure,” Brock sighed. “Maybe I was wrong about your powers of persuasion.”

James shrugged and watched as all the kids shouted in joy, throwing their colorful caps in the air.

As the other students paired and grouped off, bound for summer parties and grad parties, Steve bent to retrieve the cap, checking the inside for the tape he’s used to mark his own cap. Straightening slowly, muscles rippling under his suit and gown, the blond brushed off the mortarboard and seemed to wait for something unspoken. A very long time passed before he softly said, “Hey, Bucky, I can feel you there. I hope I made you proud today.” He smiled, lifting his face and began to walked off to meet his aged father.

Turning to look back at Brock, James’ voice lowered, “he leaves in a week for bootcamp. Give Pierce some excuse for me until we get back.”

The black-haired demon snorted. “I’ll just tell _him_ you’re still looking for the angel with the girl. _He’ll_ let you do that. _He’s_ a bit lazy about _his_ own searching.”

Nodding, James clapped Brock on the shoulder and motioned towards Steve’s classmate, Jack, with his free hand. “Well, you should reward yourself with a night of sin.”

Licking his lips, the demon’s eyes glowed even darker. “Hell yeah. I plan to ride him like the bitch he is gonna love being.” The demon strode off towards the eighteen year old who’d tried to get Steve to begin smoking so long ago, among many other sins Jack had tried to corrupt Steve into doing.

Shaking his head, James looked around to try and spot Steve and Joseph; finding them not too far from where he stood, the demon made his way over, brushing past and even _through_ some of the other humans in his way. However, he froze mid step, a few meters away from the family, when he saw Pierce standing on the other side of the field. Eyes flickering nervously to Steve and Joseph, the brunet swallowed and turned on his heel to head towards the powerful demon.

As James approached, the strawberry blond smiled wider. “Hello, James. Have you found her? I felt a twinge, smelled a hint, but it was gone when I arrived.”

Fighting the urge to look at Steve, to whisk the blond away - - away from Pierce’s possible gaze, James straightened and shook his head, “still looking . . . might’ve found a possible guardian.” The demon cringed; he didn’t want to give the other demon any information on the girl . . . but to protect Steve, he’d do anything. 

“Don’t go messing with the angels on your own, James,” Pierce advised. “You may have been dabbling in telekinetics and such, but you are by far nowhere near powerful enough for _that_ kind of energy backlash.”

“And you are?” James couldn’t keep the venom out of his tone, his top lip pulling back in a snarl. 

“Ah, jealousy. Yes, that makes you work harder, doesn’t it?” Pierce laughed. “You wish to overthrow me, and someday you might get the chance to try. But you are hundreds of years away from any real power.” The older demon looked amused, like one might be amused by a bragging child.

“Maybe you’ve lost your edge, Pierce, all you do is sit in that office all day,” James knew he shouldn’t be challenging the older demon here . . . not with Steve _so close_.

With a laugh, the man shook his head. “As I am right now? No, James, you misunderstand my duties as much as you avoid your own these days. I am here for a certain would-be-soldier I’ve had my eye on.” Pierce scanned the dissipating crowd of teenagers.

James felt his heart pound in his chest, his blood rushing through his ears. Pierce couldn’t possibly mean Steve? He turned to look at the crowd again, eyes catching on where Steve stood next to Joseph. 

Eyes resting on the very teen James wished to keep hidden, Pierce smiled slowly. “Is that the boy twin to our missing pure one? Odd, he feels neither pure nor sinful. That’s a rare trait in itself, being neutral. I wonder what his part will be in the wars to come.” The powerful demon let his eyes slip back over the crowd until he found Brock whispering in Jack’s ear. Looking mildly annoyed, Pierce let out a low growl. “Now why is he messing with my soul?” The demon strode off.

James grabbed Pierce’s bicep, stopping the man in his tracks, “you don’t want that one.” 

Glancing down at James’ hand then back into his face, Pierce growled softly. “What is it, James? Why wouldn’t I want Rollins? He’s been on my list for years.”

Not releasing his grip on the other demon, James’ eyes flickered over to where Brock stood, seemingly unaware of Pierce’s presence. The demon whispered something in Jack’s ear and the human laughed. Not wanting his friend to have to face the powerful demon’s wrath for accidentally interfering, James quickly said, “that kid isn’t worth your time. His soul is too tainted . . . no power from it.” 

Frowning, the older demon pulled his arm from James’ grip and nodded. “I wasn’t going to use him for power, just take his soul and make him another flunkie. But I can do that later if you are so bent on watching Rumlow fuck his brains out tonight.” Pierce shrugged. “Sex demons. Why did I get cursed with sex demons.” He rolled his eyes.

“You knew exactly what Brock was going to be when you made him,” James said, his voice bitter. 

“Oh, now you’re jealous of Rollins?” Pierce smiled, twisted and malicious. “Have you been fucking Rumlow all this time and don’t want to share? Is that the secret I’ve sensed you hiding these many years? Delicious.”

“What can I say?” James shrugged, looking at Brock, “sex demons are quite incredible in bed.” It was a lie; he’d never slept with Brock . . . but he needed to give Pierce _something_.

A bark of laughter shot from Pierce, finally drawing Brock’s attention. Instantly, the dark-haired demon stepped away from Jack Rollins, as if unsure if he was overstepping some unspoken boundary. A look of satisfaction at Brock’s display of respect crossed Pierce’s face. “I should make you share the boy between you. Teach you humility and let him really go wild. The more souls, the raunchier the sex demon gets.”

James grimaced; of course he’d slept with multiple people, all shapes, sizes and genders throughout his many years on this earth; but the idea of screwing a _kid_ with Brock made him uneasy. “That won’t be necessary. Brock can have ‘em.” 

“Oh?” Pierce cocked an eyebrow. “How generous of you to give him permission to take my mark.” The demon turned to stare at Brock, who looked away like an out-maneuvered dog. “I see a fine young woman I’ll talk with instead.” The older demon gave a last look at James before moving away to talk to an innocent looking blond who gave off waves of sinful energy.

Releasing a deep breath, James looked back at Steve, who talked animatedly with his father as they got into their car. Sighing, knowing they were going out to dinner and then straight home, James stuffed his hands in his pockets and began to walk off the field. He’d already performed the curse at the Rogers’ home and on Steve himself. They were both safe for the evening.

**********

“You are late, Yasha,” Nat’s voice sounded mild from her seat behind her desk. She had an ancient tome in front of her which she perused carefully, one finely manicured nail tracing without touch as she went over rune by rune.

“Had an unexpected run-in,” James growled as he stepped into the office.

Nodding, Nat looked up, studying James’ form for a moment. The fallen angel rose gracefully and carefully shut her book. “I certainly have time for you, Yasha.”

Stepping further into the room, James looked directly at the redhead. “Do you have it?” He got directly to the point of this meeting, feeling stressed over his unexpected encounter with Pierce.

Apparently respecting his distress, Nat did not play games. She immediately reached into her desk and pulled out a small wooden box with runic symbols across the lid and sides. Flicking it open with ease, she pushed the box towards the demon.

The box was simple and ancient looking, smelling of a hint of brimstone and a trace of roses. Inside, settled in a small, neat circle along the bare wood of the bottom, lay a braided leather thong with a bit of blue sapphire, the pendant woven into the necklace rather than hanging free, though it did dangle down in a braid of its own.

As James looked into the box, Tasha spoke in a serious, soft tone. “No one may touch that, James, unless he or she is attuned to you. It will channel your energies, of both kinds, whatever they may be.” She stood slowly, once more abandoning whatever research she almost always was doing in favor of her visitor. “It will hurt to use it, but with time and practice, the pain will dull and you will grow accustomed. Practice away from _his_ powerpoints, James, so when you weaken yourself _he_ won’t bother to figure out why.”

She stopped in front of the demon, and the fallen angel frowned lightly. “The more you practice, the more you use it, the more it will answer you when you truly need it to.” Reaching out, she shut the box and removed it from his hand, holding its precious contents up and back, away from him, though he could easily reach for it. “Now, you have your energy channel, I expect you to fill your half of the bargain. The fighter who is close to your boy. I will let you know when I need him, but he has to be very close to that purity to be of any use to me.”

The red-haired woman looked up at the brunet with serious, ever-changing eyes. “Is the deal still struck?”

“I promise I’ll keep an eye out . . . Steve’s going off to war - - shouldn’t be too hard to find the soul you’re asking for,” James answered, eyes flickering between the energy channel and the fallen angel.

She nodded and held the box out to him. “A close friend, Yasha, not just anyone.”

Taking the box from her, James nodded, “I’ll do my best . . . Steve doesn’t really make many friends.”

She looked thoughtful as she watched him. “If it will help you to know, I do not want him dead. I need him alive and willing when the time is ripe.”

“Alive. You got it,” James looked at Natasha, “you also told me you have the whereabouts of the angel and the twin.”

“Ah, yes, that.” She looked very amused for a second then walked behind her desk, expression clearing. “Yes, they will cross paths and it is best to make sure that they do not answer to each other’s purity by doing something immoral.” Nat sank to her chair and went back to her book.

“Natasha, I need to speak with this angel . . . I’m not going to be in town for much longer,” James said as he stepped up to the edge of the desk. “She has some answers for me.”

“Her name is Margaret Carter and she has been living in London since acquiring the twin, whom she calls Sharon.” Nat looked up.

“London?” James shook his head, he could get there and back before Steve left for bootcamp . . . but that would mean leaving Steve unprotected for the first time in eighteen years. Brock could _maybe_ perform the protective curse . . . but would the other demon be willing?

“Ah, so you are now in a greater dilemma?” Nat offered quietly. “You need this angel close to you so you might watch your own charge?”

“Natasha . . . this angel _knows_ something. There’s a reason that she let me touch Steve . . . I need to know.” James’ fingers traced the delicate runes carved into the wooden box.

Sighing, Natasha seemed to be at war with herself internally. Finally, softly, as if it strained her greatly, the fallen angel said, “angels can see things others cannot. It is possible, Yasha, that she saw you protecting this boy.”

Growling softly he said, “that’s not good enough . . . I need to hear it from her. I feel like - -” James cut himself off, shaking his head.

With a sigh, Nat looked directly at him. “So, you wish me to find a way for you two to meet?”

“Yes,” James nodded.

“And you were not listening earlier,” she shook her head. “I _told_ you already that soon your twins would meet and it would be wisest not to allow them to mistaken accord with lust.”

Throwing his hands in the air, James groaned, “I heard you . . . don’t let the twins become _involved_ . . . look, Natasha, I don’t even care about seeing the girl. I just need a few minutes with this angel.”

Shaking her head, Nat slowly enunciated, “Yasha . . . how often are you away from your boy?”

“I see him everyday at least to complete the spell that dulls his scent,” James answered.

“And the angel would need to protect her own charge just as well . . .” Nat hinted.

Running his fingers through his hair, James let out a frustrated growl, “you want me to wait until the twins meet.”

“The girl calls the angel Aunt Peggy. The angel has not remained hidden these years . . . she raised the child.” Nat looked down at her book and said, “you have fifteen years before the boy is ready for you. Have patience.”

“I’ve had enough patience to last me lifetimes . . . oh, wait . . . I’ve been around for _lifetimes_.” James shook his head. 

Nat suddenly looked up and her eyes narrowed. “Well, you may go now and meet her. You may even try to bring your boy since he has a few days before he reports to his earthbound duties. But you will be rushing into something without your own energy wouldn’t you? You have yet to practice and build your rapport with your pendant. And, there is the small, personally selfish, reason I have that you need to find that soul for me since I am literally bound to this continent and cannot cross oceans to find him.” Her anger was swelling and her energy swirling.

“Fine,” James snapped, “I’ll wait.” 

Nat sighed. “After bootcamp, your charge will be assigned the continuing war in Pakistan. You will be too busy to leave his side. And you will need every shred of power you can muster to help him.” The energy seemed to dissipate. “Now, I have said too much,” she sounded genuinely angry. “Leave before we both get in trouble.”

Turning on his heel, box tucked under his arm, James strode from the room, not looking back at the fallen angel.

**********

“I suppose you should know, I leave today, Buck,” Steve stood by his bed in his room. Plenty of new clothing was scattered across the bedspread and the teen packed with care. “Not sure if you’ll stay with me since I’m not a little kid anymore, but I wanted you to know, Bucky, that I’ll always love you. You’ve been my angel and my best friend.”

“Sweet,” Brock murmured from the closet.

Arms crossed in front of his chest, James didn’t even acknowledge the other demon. Steve had just said he _loved_ Bucky, his angel. James couldn’t help but see the irony in this entire situation . . . the blond was so sure that _Bucky_ was good, that he was sent from heaven to watch over Steve. When in reality, the only reason the brunet ever met the kid had been to tear the blond’s soul from his body to use for his own selfish reasons. Over the years, James had become pretty certain he wouldn’t be able to follow through with the ritual . . . he cared too much. 

“You could always use the girl, instead, James, and just fuck this one. He’s ripe for you. I can smell him.” Brock sniffed the air to make his point.

“No,” James growled, “Steve deserves better than a monster like me . . . and the girl . . . she’s protected by a goddamned angel.” The brunet’s fingers began to play with the leather rope around his neck; the pendant felt heavy . . . Nat had been right, it did weaken him. 

With a sigh, Brock stretched, and nodded. “Okay, want me to look for another one?”

James shook his head, his eyes softened with hopelessness, “another soul compatible with mine? We’ll have to wait another century.” His whole body felt drained, exhausted and the few times he’d used his powers while using the amulet he’d nearly passed out. The pendent seemed to drain all his energy, almost like it was conserving it, storing it away for when he’d need it most. 

“Well, you gonna need me here or overseas, James? Cause I can’t be both places.” Brock began to sink deeper into the shadows of the closet, especially after Steve paused and glanced over with a small frown. “Creepy,” the demon muttered.

Sighing, James’ hand dropped and he leaned against the wall to support himself, “I need you here. Keep Pierce off my back.” 

“Right, keep him fishing.” Brock didn’t even say goodbye as he left the home, drawing a deep breath of freedom from that damned pure teenager in the house.

“The monster is gone for now,” Steve commented mildly. “Has he gotten stronger, Bucky?” Steve never got an answer over the years and didn’t expect one now. “You’re not as vibrant. Something has hurt you, hasn’t it?” Steve turned towards the energy he felt. “I didn’t know you’d get hurt at the same time I’m going to leave. I’m not a little kid. You can rest for a bit.”

Sighing softly, James pushed off the wall, swaying on his feet as he began to mutter the ancient string of words, his eyes pitch black, but the action seemed to pale the demon’s skin, a sheen of sweat covering his whole body.

As if sensing that his protector was doing the opposite of resting, Steve straightened to his full six foot two inch height. “Bucky . . . “

Gasping, the amulet practically weighing him down, the demon finished the curse and collapsed to the floor on his hands and knees, chest heaving heavily and limbs shaking with exhaustion. 

Glancing around, noticing that this time Bucky’s signature house trembling energy burst barely caused a breeze to flutter through the room, Steve knelt by the energy. He placed a hand out to touch it carefully. “Buck, please don’t hurt yourself. I’m fine. Really.”

“You’ll never be safe,” James rasped, he struggled to keep himself conscious. 

“Adults never are,” Steve responded, wondering why he’d never heard his angel before. He liked the soft sound, even if it had been full of exhaustion and pain. The teen knew he’d been right. The angel was hurting himself to protect Steve.

Eyes slowly fading back to steel-blue, James looked over at Steve; the blond knelt so close to him . . . his hand mere inches from touching the demon’s back. The brunet could clearly make out the small specks of green in the human’s vibrant blue eyes. Part of him wanted to finally show himself . . . be a real part of Steve’s life; but the demon knew he couldn’t do that. He threatened to taint the blond’s pure soul everyday by just watching him . . . Steve would be hellbound in an instant if he _really_ got to know his angel, Bucky. 

“You’re an angel for little kids, aren’t you, Bucky? Trying to protect an adult hurts and drains you.” Steve sighed. “I’ll miss you. But if you’ve gotta go, I can understand that.”

“I’m not going anywhere you little punk,” James said softly, some of his strength finally returning back to him.

Steve actually chuckled. “I haven’t heard you for eighteen years and now you’re calling me a punk.” He laughed a bit. “Well, for an angel, you’re being a jerk. How’s that?” Steve sank onto his butt next to the energy, still chuckling, more amused than anything by the complaint. Heck, if Bucky wanted to finally talk to him . . . Steve drew in a sudden breath. “I can hear you . . . is it because you couldn’t be heard by a child? Things are changing so fast: graduating, the Army, Da getting that new job at the post in London.”

Eyes flashing, James’ breath hitched . . . London? Steve’s father had gotten a new job in _London_. Natasha’s words seemed to suddenly make sense . . . Steve would want to visit his father - - that’s when he’d meet Sharon. Using the wall to help take on some of his weight, James stood and looked down at the blond, who over the last eighteen years the demon had grown to care for . . . to love. 

Sensing the being moving, Steve got to his feet. “You are always welcome in my life, my home, Bucky.” Steve said with certainty. “Even if you’re not able to be my angel any more.” He offered the energy a smile, a wide, almost angelic smile. Turning, allowing the being the dignity of leaving if it wanted or needed to, Steve began packing once more.

Allowing himself to be heard one last time, James said, “I’m with you to the end of the line, kid.” 

“To the end of the line,” Steve echoed, still smiling. “You got it. It’s a bargain.”


	4. The Soldier's Demon

Crouched down behind the broken, pitted wall of what was once a store, heat shimmering across the rubble and debris of the war-torn town, Steve tried to calm his breathing after the last barrage of gunfire. He glanced over at the pocked street and counted at least three of his guys in need of help. Nodding, feeling his adrenaline kick in, the Army medic gripped his gun a little tighter and dove out to quick-crawl to the first fellow soldier, a howl of bullets raining down around him.

Standing by Steve’s side as the blond worked on the injured man, James held both arms out on either side of his body, eyes completely black, the bullets aimed towards them practically evaporating in mid air. His amulet burned hot on his chest as he used his stored energy to keep Steve and the soldiers the blond saved, safe from gunfire. 

Sure the first man would be fine if he could just get back to the limited safety behind the buildings, Steve pulled the barely conscious man’s arms together, tied them at the wrist with a strip of cloth from the med bag over his shoulder, and draped them over his neck. He then fast-crawled, dragging the man under him, back to the rest of his platoon. “Take him,” Steve barked, removing the man’s bound arms from around his neck. He turned again; there were two men still out on that road, and the other medics were all busy with the heavy casualties the unit had already taken.

“Couldn’t have been a teacher or something?” James huffed, his breathing coming out in pants. He’d become stronger during the last few years but the pendant still used everything in him, especially trying to control this much chaos.

Diving back into the gunfire, Steve fast-crawled to the next guy. He checked the soldier, paused, then checked again. Hanging his head slightly, Steve whispered a prayer for the dead man. He moved onto the third and began desperately working on the gasping, certainly wide awake, man. “Hold on, Barton, I got ya,” Steve claimed, pulling out a wad of pressure bandage and using it to wipe away as much blood from the man’s gut as he could.

As another round of gunfire rained down, James raised his trembling hands again, effectively creating the protective wall around himself, Steve and Barton. The demon could almost feel each bullet hit the invisible wall, as if they were hitting him instead. 

Surprise, and intense worry, washed over the twenty-two year old medic. The man had been eviscerated by shrapnel. There was a high probability that Barton, the radioman for the unit, wouldn’t live through the next two hours. Steve refused to give up before he even started. He knew Barton was in for a major infection, but there was no time while under fire for anything else: he shoved the man’s guts back inside, spread another compression bandage over the gaping wound and slipped off his own belt to wrap around Barton’s waist, as tight as he could.

“Hurry, kid,” James gasped, black eyes flickering down to the two humans; the bullets never seemed to end.

Tying off Barton’s wrists and looping his patient’s arms around his neck, Steve crawled back to the relative safety of the beleaguered unit behind the rubbled concrete barrier. Another man helped Steve slide the wounded radioman into a jeep, Steve barely removing his hands from where he continued to hold desperate pressure on the man’s belly wound. With a roar, the jeep took off. Steve glanced back and saw the rest of the unit pulling out, a pair of soldiers trying to sneak around to retrieve that third, already dead, man.

Steve turned his attention back onto his patient. He pulled out a pair of water bottles, dumped half of one on his own hands, then unwound his belt and pour the rest of the two bottles all over the bandage to keep Clint’s guts wet. He put a second bandage over the first and tightened the belt again. “You’ll be okay, Barton. If it’s in my power, you’ll be okay,” Steve murmured, not making false promises; he never did.

James sagged inside the jeep, against the wall, he remained out-of-sync but barely managed to keep himself upright. He hardly registered the stream of blackish blood running from his nose until he wiped at the odd, wet feeling on his face. Looking down at the back of his hand, a large smear of his own blood stood out against his pale, clammy skin. James looked at the blood with a look of confusion mixed with fear. He’d never pushed himself that hard before. 

“My stomach hurts,” Barton gasped out, sounding mildly surprised.

“Yeah, you got a bit of lead in there, Barton,” Steve answered.

“Is that your belt, Rogers? I think it looks good on me,” Barton shot back with a mildly interested look.

“Well, if you pull through, you can keep it,” Steve answered on a nervous chuckle. After a moment, he whispered, “Bucky? You feel weak. You okay?” He didn’t doubt the high energy he’d felt was his childhood angel, still protecting him even as he had noticeably weakened.

“Who’s Bucky? My name’s Clint,” the wounded man responded.

Steve nodded but merely said, “Right. Clint.”

The demon’s vision faded in and out, the edges blurring dangerously; his eyes hadn’t returned back to their normal state and the pendant burned hot against his skin. 

Worried for the weakened being near him, Steve concentrated on letting his own energy touch the angel’s, maybe giving a little of his own robust health to the being who’d watched him for over twenty years. He wasn’t sure how to do what he wanted, how to give his energy to an angel, but he tried.

James felt his vision clear out and his breathing even out, his entire body humming with the pure energy the demon knew Steve was lending him. Within a few moments, the brunet still felt weakened but not on the verge of passing out.

As if sensing the change, Steve stopped pushing his energy towards the being nearby. He sagged a bit, but he smiled and his energy shone even purer now that he’d been so self-sacrificing, because he hadn’t been using it for himself. “There you go,” he soothed on a chuckle, “you’re all right now.”

“Yeah,” Clint Barton chuckled weakly. “Can’t get better than being in a jeep away from the bullets with the promise of owning a new belt artfully decorated with my own guts.”

Looking down at the injured man with a quirked brow, James smirked at the man’s humor, despite the human’s insides being _outside_ of his body. “A true fighter, huh? You should be dead,” a sudden dawning of realization flooded his blue eyes. Could this be the soul Natasha was looking for?

“Hey, when this is all over, wanna get a beer, Rogers?” Clint asked suddenly on a small, weak chuckle.

Laughing, Steve answered, “if the doc clears you, sure. Until then, we’ll swap juice.”

“Yeah, I could kill some juice about now. Got any of that water left or did you try to water it all directly in? My mouth feels left out.” Clint coughed, but the sound wasn’t due to a lung injury.

“Yeah, I got one left. It’s your’s once you’re cleared. But for now,” Steve poured a tiny amount on another bandage and wiped it over Clint’s lips, letting him suck the cloth. “Should help . . . Clint.”

The wounded man stopped sucking for a second to ask, “what’s your name, Rogers? Seems rude not to know the man who saved my life and my sweet ass.”

Barking a laugh, Steve shook his head. “Steve. Steve Rogers. Now suck my cloth.” The blond poured more water on the bandage and offered it to Clint, who grinned, a wicked twinkle in his dark grey-blue eyes. Barton began to suck the cloth once more.

During the entire trip back to the MASH unit, Steve kept up a light conversation with his charge, accepting Barton’s flirting, but countering it like a pro. It was the first time he’d actually flirted with someone in his life. Steve wondered if this man might just be the one he was looking for . . . his soul mate. He mentally chuckled. Talk about a weird way to meet.

Listening to Steve and Clint flirt back and forth the entire ride back, James couldn’t help the spike of jealousy in his chest. He wanted to be able to talk with Steve like that . . . be the one to make that blush creep onto the blond’s cheeks. However, the demon quickly shoved the emotion away, and focused on stemming his own bleeding nose; he could feel his face covered in the thick, dark substance. He’d have to be more careful . . . he couldn’t risk over-exerting himself and passing out.

The jeep pulled into the small, mobile hospital base and Steve glanced up. He willingly let the wounded man go into the very clean hands of the waiting surgical staff. After waving off any medical attention himself, Steve hadn’t been hurt at all, the blond slipped tiredly from the back of the jeep and swayed lightly, holding on. Softly he called, “hey, Buck. You gonna be able to make it to the VIP tent? They’re letting me rest before going back up front.”

“Back up front . . .” James grumbled, shuffling out of the jeep, standing on shaky legs, “ _had_ to go into the Army. _Had_ to save lives. You’re going to be the death of me, punk.”

“I get the feeling you’re having some really jerk-worthy thoughts right now,” Steve chuckled. “I’d carry you if I could figure out exactly where you were, Bucky, but you’ve got an energy field that confuses my touch. If you can walk, you’re welcome to come with me to the tent and bunk down with me. I feel like I could sleep a week right now.” Steve began to walked slowly towards the offered tent.

Following the blond into the tent, James felt like he could sleep a century and still be tired. His exhausted energy poured off him in waves.

Inside, Steve stripped off his uniform, including his sand-filled shorts, groaned softly as he began washing out of a basin, skipping the shower down the base further. “Man, I cannot wait until I can go home. I swear, Bucky, on my honor, this is not going to be my career. I thought being a soldier like Da was what was missing in my life, but maybe Jack was right. Maybe it’s a girl . . .” the blond flushed and dropped his voice, “or a guy.” He began to wash the area formerly covered by his shorts.

Eyes trailing down Steve’s muscular form, a desperate feeling of _want_ burning through him, James licked his lips; wanting nothing more than to grab the man and kiss him breathless. However, he forced himself to look away, sitting down on the edge of the cot.

As if sensing the change in energy, Steve paused and smiled towards the invisible being. “Feeling better, Buck?” He dried himself then began to wash out his shorts. He had no clothes to change into; this wasn’t his own unit.

“Feeling _something_ ,” James grumbled as he bent over and took off his boot, turning it over to dump out the small pile of sand, “fucking hate the desert.”

“Yeah, I’m not fond of the desert,” Steve echoed as if he’d heard the sentiment even if he missed the words. He washed his socks carefully then dumped the dirty water just outside the tent. He hung the shorts and socks up to dry and, with a soft groan, tumbled into the bunk, careful not to slam into the energy being he felt. “Bucky,” he moaned, “it feels like heaven lying down on a bunk.”

Snorting softly, James laid down, mindful not to touch the blond, and let his eyes close. His body needed to rest; he didn’t even care about the blood on his face or his sweaty body. 

Several hours of mutual rest passed when Steve woke up, fully hard and aching from a confusing, quickly fading dream. He groaned and rolled away from the energy he could sense nearby. He refused to jack off in front of an angel. The blond tried to will his erection away.

Cracking his eyes open, sensing Steve’s distress, James slowly sat up, his body aching. Looking over, he barked out a laugh when he saw the human’s _delicate_ situation. “Have a good dream, Steve?”

Groaning, Steve muttered, “why do I keep dreaming about blue-grey eyes?” He shook his head. “Maybe I dreamed up Clint?” He threw an arm over his face, hiding his eyes, but refused to touch himself as he sensed the energy of his angel right next to him.

James refused to think of that statement as any more than a coincidence. Steve _couldn’t_ be talking about him . . . the blond had never even seen him before . . . lots of people had grey-blue eyes. The demon pushed away the thought, cursing himself for being foolish enough to wish that Steve was talking about him. 

Standing up on sore legs, the brunet began to walk out of the tent, “I’ll give you a minute to help yourself.” 

As the energy left the space, Steve gave in to his desire and grabbed himself with a long groan.

**********

“I don’t think this is working, Clint,” Steve sighed. He’d secretly, the military and public in general disapproved of gay people, been dating Clint for the last few weeks. It was good; they were extremely compatible, but just the idea of kissing the guy made Steve feel like he was betraying someone . . . else . . . someone he might not even know yet.

“Well, your loss, Steve,” Clint laughed, seeming unbothered by Steve’s words. “I’m more than happy to just hang around like a lost puppy instead, if that works better for ya? But, you’re stuck with me, Rogers. You saved my life, and I’ve a debt to pay.”

James looked down at his nails, seemingly bored with the conversation going on.

Shaking his head, Steve rolled his eyes. “A life saved does not make a debt owed, Clint. If I expected a life-debt for every guy I saved, I’d be no better than a soul collector. You lived, that’s my reward.”

Eyes snapping up, James paled at Steve’s words, a raw feeling of guilt and self-loathing rippling through him. The brunet could never be as pure as Steve . . . at least not anymore . . . the muscular medic deserved someone _good_ , someone wholesome. Not a monster who’d killed children in an attempt to retrieve his own soul.

Clint chuckled, breaking into James’ dark thoughts, totally unaware of the demon nearby. “Right. Well, I’ll follow you anyway. Maybe someday I’ll save your life and then I’d feel even.”

Steve sighed. “Fine. I’d like to have a friend, Clint. But I’m a very internal guy.” He glanced over. “And I talk to the walls.”

Laughing, Clint nodded. “I’ve actually heard you. You talk to someone named Bucky.”

“My guardian angel,” Steve clarified, obviously bracing for derision.

The stockier, shorter blonde, glanced over from where he lay stretched out on his bunk “Ever seen the angel? I have seen mine. She’s gorgeous.”

James’ eyes snapped over to Clint, eyes narrowing. 

Steve looked shocked. “You have an angel?”

“Haven’t met her yet, but yeah. I’ve seen her in my dreams and she is hot enough to make an angel sin.” Clint grinned. “And I know someday I’ll meet this woman, and when that happens, I’ll give her whatever she wants.”

Shaking his head, Steve let out a breath. “There is so much wrong with what you just said, I’m not sure where to start.”

Clint merely laughed and lay back. “Yeah, well, with my luck, she’ll laugh in my face. But, hey, a guy can dream, right?”

“Doubt that,” James snorted, looking down at his nails again. He knew Natasha was powerful enough to enter a human’s dreams and even manipulate their minds and emotions. She already had his poor soul whipped and he hadn’t even met her yet. No wonder she wanted James to find this guy . . . she’d have a perfect little servant. 

Sighing, Steve shook his head. “My angel is different, Clint. He’s been there since I can remember. I think he was there when I was born. And he’s protected me my whole life.” Taking a deep, slow breath, Steve said, “there was always something dark, maybe even demonic, hanging around me, too. But my angel . . . I think he kept it at bay, you know?” Shaking his head, Steve said, “but the dark one hasn’t been near me since I left home. So, I guess my house was haunted or something.”

“No shit?” Clint looked over. “Never met someone with a permanent angel on stand by. Must be hard to get it up for a date with someone watching all the time.”

Groaning, Steve shook his head. “I refuse to answer that.”

“So, this angel’s a guy. You sure?” Clint sounded amused.

“Yes. Bucky’s a guy, Clint. Now drop it. I shouldn’t have even brought it up. You’re the only person, aside from my Da, who I’ve told.” Steve frowned softly.

Clint barked another laugh. “You have the hots for him, don’t you? God, you’re lusting after your angel.”

Shock widened Steve’s eyes and he shook his head. “It’s not right to lust after angels, Clint. Drop it now!”

James looked at Steve with calculating eyes . . . the human hadn’t denied anything - - hadn’t said that he _wasn’t_ lusting after his _angel_. The brunet felt an odd blossom of warmth in his chest, the mere idea that Steve _could_ be attracted to him made a small smirk grace his lips. However, the smile faded just as quick as it’d arrived. If Steve ever knew what James truly was . . . he’d never want anything to do with him ever again. He tried not to imagine the look of shocked horror on the human’s face if he were to ever find out the truth about his _‘angel, Bucky.’_

Clint snorted softly. “Nah, nothing wrong with lust for an angel. Not even for having sex with one,” the stocky blond said, as if he knew what he talked about. “It’s not wrong for _you_ at least. You’re a weak human. You’re allowed to fall in love and give yourself faithfully to an angel, especially if you plan to always be loyal. That’s what love is. It’s the angel that’ll fall, not you.” Clint reached over for a ball on his foot locker beside his bunk and began tossing it into the air and catching it.

Steve shook his head. “I don’t want Bucky to fall, Clint. I want him to be the best angel he can be. So, if my love would hurt him, I’ll keep it to myself.”

“So,” Clint grinned. “You _do_ want him. Can’t blame you. I’d let my angel have her way with me if she wanted. I’d go to hell happy.”

Steve shook his head. “Going to hell is the one thing my angel wouldn’t want for me, Clint.”

“Got that right,” James grumbled. Clint dropped the ball and it rolled right next to the demon’s feet. With a quick flick of his wrist, the demon flung the ball to hit the stockier soldier on the head.

“What the . . .?” Clint wriggled around, eyes wide.

Steve, having seen the entire ball incident, merely smirked. “I told you. Bucky’s always with me. I think you offended him.”

“Wait,” Clint eased up on his arms and looked around. “You were seriously talking about lusting after your damned angel with him in the room?”

Steve shrugged. “I try not to have secrets from my Bucky, Clint. It’s more open and honest. He probably knew a long time ago that I’ve wanted to touch him. But I think he also knows I respect him enough not to ask him to betray whatever angel codes are out there for a stupid human’s lust. So, yeah, I talked about it in front of him.”

“Damn,” Clint swore again and shook his head, easing back to the cot. “You really got an angel, huh? Me, it’s a dirty fantasy from regular dreams. But you got a real angel?”

Flushing, Steve answered softly. “Yes. I do.”


	5. Hurry up and Wait

Looking out of the airport window, Steve drew a deep, nervous sounding breath. He ignored the sleepy figure of his now best friend, Clint Barton, behind him. Rather, Steve’s attention was on the strange city spread out in front of him, looking so familiar, like any other city he’d gone to. But the blond ex-soldier knew that this one was different for two reasons. The first was that his Da had been transferred here about the same time Steve had gone to war, and he’d had no chance to visit his father for the last four years. The second reason was that as soon as they had touched soil, Steve had felt a calling, a tugging in his heart. He didn’t know what it was he would find, but something life-shattering was here for him.

“Buck,” he whispered to the ever present energy by his side, a far change from the daily presence of his childhood. It was still the same Bucky, he was sure, but this one felt mostly weak and never left. Once in awhile, the energy would surge, and those were the times that Steve worried his angel might be overtaxing himself. Something had hurt, had weakened Bucky, and Steve wondered if it had anything to do with himself. That weakness was the main reason Steve had refused to re-up for the military; Bucky was hurting himself in a war zone. The blond kind of wished he could ask. Instead he went with his initial impulse. “Buck, I’m scared about what we’ll find out there.”

Dark circles under his eyes and skin slightly paler than it had been four years ago, James turned to look at the man he’d grown to love. The amulet felt heavy on his neck, this day being one of the bad ones, where all he wanted to do was sleep. Eyes turning a dark black, James pushed forward positive energy toward Steve, regardless of the toll it took on himself.

Laughing softly, Steve said, “thanks, Buck. You and me are a pair, huh?” He turned and shook Clint awake. “C’mon, Da’s car is here. We’re going to his place.” The tall, muscular blond shot another sweet smile towards his energy friend, the being he called his angel Bucky. “We’re going to have a good rest in real beds.”

The medically discharged soldier grunted and eased up. “That sounds like a great idea, Steve. Let’s go find some beds and conk out for a century.”

Steve snorted lightly. “I plan to sleep a few hours then go out and do things. I’ve never been to England. All those ancient buildings are just calling to me.”

“Hah, you mean that art and architecture,” Clint shot back. He stood and reached for his duffel but let it go when Steve grabbed it for him. “Guess Bucky’ll be glad to stomp around a few cathedrals, huh?”

Steve shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. He’s never gone to church or chapel with me. I think he’s a different kind of angel.”

Puzzled, Clint looked at his friend, falling in step as the taller blond led him from the lobby towards the carport. “What do you mean?”

Shrugging, Steve answered, “I’ve been thinking it over and I guess I might have hit upon something, but I’ve got no proof. I think guardian angels either are assigned to help their family and friends or are trying to redeem themselves, kind of like a punishment or something for maybe doing something wrong.” The blond shook his head. “I think I’m Bucky’s punishment, and he’s not allowed back into church until he’s fulfilled his punishment terms.”

James snorted softly, shaking his head, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Ever since he’d begun wearing the amulet, he always felt cold, almost like the pendant was draining any life he had left in him. However, he continued to wear the damn thing because the times he’d _needed_ to use it’s abilities the surge would be ten times stronger than his normal powers. 

Clint snorted, unaware he echoed the demon with them, “that’s probably horseshit, but yeah, we’ll go with that.”

Steve shook his head and nodded towards his father. “Hey, Da! Thanks for picking us up. This is Clint Barton, my friend I told you about.”

The older man waited only long enough for his son to put the bags in the trunk before he grabbed and hugged him hard. Steve smiled and hugged him back.

Smiling softly at the sight, James leaned against the car. 

“I know you’re just getting back from the Army, boys, but I hope you don’t mind. I invited some . . . friends . . . for dinner.”

“Friends?” Steve looked puzzled. He’d thought at least their first night back together would be limited to him and his dad, and Clint of course, since the guy had nowhere else to go; it’s why he was tagging along with Steve.

“Yes,” Joseph said slowly. “They’re neighbors since I moved off-base. I think you’ll like them.” He smiled hopefully. “I think you’ll really like the girl. She’s your age and really pretty.”

Clint snorted, but Steve ignored him. “Are you trying to match make me, Da?” the tall blond felt incredulous.

“Just get to meet them,” Joseph said.

Nodding, sliding into the car, Steve said, “of course, Da. I’d love to meet your friends.” He felt puzzled and a bit worried. Didn’t his Da know he wasn’t looking for a girlfriend? Sure, he’d had that secret fling with Clint . . . and Steve couldn’t possibly ever tell his father about that, but he was only twenty-two. His Da didn’t need to try to settle him with some unknown British woman. The entire trip back to his Da’s flat, Steve looked out the window and worried.

Eyes darkening again, James pushed more of his positive energy towards the blond; he didn’t outright manipulate Steve’s emotions, much like he’d done with plenty of other humans, but he tried to guide Steve in a more positive direction.

As if he could feel the energy, which Steve often did, the blond whispered, “thanks, Buck.”

“What?” Joseph said. “Buck? You still talking to your imaginary friend? Steve, you’re a grown man. If this is some kind of emotional reaction to the war, we can get you some help. You don’t need invisible angels to protect you.”

James snarled and he involuntarily caused the car to swerve slightly with his small outburst of emotion.

Steve gripped the dashboard, eyes widening, as Joseph swore and tried to regain control. “Damn mist on the ground. Hold on, boys!”

Steve whispered softly, “Buck, please, he doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t understand. Don’t be upset. Please, Bucky?”

At the sounds of Steve’s plea, James’ eyes faded and he slumped against the window, forehead pressing against the cool glass. The car immediately stopped swerving and continued straight down the road.

“Well, that was fun,” Clint piped up from beside the demon. “Didn’t even need a ticket to ride.”

Joseph snorted and pulled into the carport for the block of flats. “Sorry about that. Sometimes there’s a slick on the roads, you know?” He got out of the car.

Steve merely nodded silently and got out to retrieve the bags, shooting a worried look to the apparently empty seat he knew Bucky was sitting in. The tall blond hefted the luggage and carried it behind his father up to the apartment.

Softly, Clint spoke to the empty space beside him. “If you really are looking out for Steve for whatever reason, you might wanna get that emotional reaction under control. Humans are assholes and say things that hurt. Can’t let it get under your skin, Angel.” The stocky blond slid from the car with a wince, wrapping his arm over his gut and trudging towards the apartment.

Sighing, James phased out of the car and followed the humans up the stairs. Every step caused his legs to ache in protest and he really wanted a bed. He’d worry about somehow finding that damn angel tomorrow, after he was well rested.

A wave of pure peace washed over him, sending a burning pain through the skin under the pendant, but a soothing sweet ache through the rest of his body.

Gasping, James clutched tightly at the handrail, head snapping up to look around. His fingers clutched at the amulet and it took everything in him not to let his knees buckle.

At the top of the steps, right beside Joseph, stood the nurse, unchanged in appearance from when she’d been in the surgery twenty-two years ago. She looked down at James with a soft smile, then turned to accept Joseph’s kiss on her cheek. Behind her hovered a blonde woman with big blue eyes. “I started dinner so the boys could rest. Come inside, Joe.”

James finished walking up the stairs, the odd, soothing pain making his legs feel wobbly. He looked directly at the nurse . . . the angel he’d been looking for, for eight years.

The woman greeted both returning soldiers, letting the three men pass her into the apartment. She turned to James as if everyone could see him. Smiling, she said, “welcome inside. Sharon, why don’t you go meet the men? They have fascinating stories of their war, I am sure.”

The blond woman nodded and walked inside, leaving her supposed aunt on the step with nothing visible.

“You’re here,” James muttered, eyes falling down the length of her body, not suggestively, almost apprehensively.

“It has been a long time,” she responded. “Come inside and rest. You will be undetected under my care.” The pretty brunet with the wide eyes opened the door wider to allow him to pass.

“Why would one of _you_ want to help one of _us_?” James asked quietly; of course angels and demons had never gotten along. One helping the other simply wasn’t heard of.

Cryptically, she answered, “even a fallen angel may regain her wings, unless she defies Him directly.”

Nodding, too tired to do much else, the demon stepped into the angel’s home; the immediate, overwhelming sense of purity almost knocked him to his knees. He had to brace himself against the wall, the pendant around his neck burning hotter.

“You will become used to the many energies around you here. Come up the steps. I have a room prepared specifically for you. It will bar both purity and foulness. You will be rested.” She turned and led him to the second floor, down a hallway, and to the end room. “In here you will find temporary sanctuary, but you mustn’t use your abilities in here or it will break the protection. This means, you cannot out-sync, either.”

James stopped at the doorway, eyes wide, “can’t out-sync? That - - that means I can be seen.”

“Naturally, you keep that ability always on, and it drains you at all times, as well. But here, in order to use this dulling spell, you cannot use any magics or energies. You will be my guest. And you will enjoy some time as a neutral, unscented being. Not quite human, but you will not be identifiable for what you truly are, either.” Peggy turned to watch him.

Stepping into the room, a sigh of relief broke past his lips at the neutral, safe energy. Knowing he could now be seen by any of the other humans in the apartment made him a little uneasy . . . he hadn’t been this vulnerable in over a hundred and eighty years.

She did not cross the threshold. Rather, Peggy smiled briefly then nodded. “When you have rested, dinner will be ready. We may talk tomorrow. Tonight, you may do what you wish, within reason.”

“Steve can’t see me,” James said softly.

“Why not? In this room you will not give off your energy signature. He will not know you for his protector but as just another guest under his father’s roof.” She smiled gently. “I will see you at dinner.” Peggy turned and walked down the hall.

James looked around the neutrally scented and decorated room, walking over to the bed, he collapsed on the soft linen, not bothering with getting under the covers or taking off any of his clothes.

Several hours passed before a light knock came on the door to James’ room.

Shooting up, it took a few moments to process where he was; after settling down again James swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. He felt better than he had in years, almost fully rested and he didn’t feel sore. Ruffling his sleep-mussed short brown hair, James shuffled over to the door and opened it.

“Auntie Peggy said you’d arrived and gone straight to bed, so you missed meeting everyone.” The pretty blond woman smiled at James. She held a tray in her hands. “She said you would want to stay in here tonight, so I brought you a tray.”

Taking the tray with a smile, James nodded in appreciation, “thank you for bringing this to me . . . smells delicious.”

“My name is Sharon, Peggy’s niece. You probably already know Joe. He lives here. His son Steve just came back from war in Pakistan, and his friend Clint is with him. I understand you knew Aunt Peggy when I was born?” She smiled wider, her blue eyes sparkling.

Turning to set the tray on the desk by the door, James smiled and nodded again, “yeah, your Aunt Peggy and I go way back.”

Sharon nodded, apparently not bothered that the man who looked twenty-five claimed to know her aunt twenty-two years before. “I’ll let you rest. Have a good evening. You can set the tray outside the door when you’re done.” The pretty blond walked away from the door, never having entered the neutralized room.

Just as James was shutting the door he saw Steve down the hall, entering another bedroom; their eyes met and for the first time in twenty-two years, Steve saw his _angel_ . . . although the blond wouldn't be able to sense the demon’s unique energy in the neutralized room.

The tall blond hesitated and smiled at the sight of his father’s other guest, the one he’d been told was too exhausted to come down for dinner. Steve detoured to the other bedroom, drawn towards the unknown guest like he’d never been drawn by anything before. “Hey, I’m Steve,” he smiled, “glad to see you’re feeling better. Peggy said you were pretty tired from your trip.” Normally Steve didn’t approach a lot of people, but the pretty brunet with the blue-grey eyes seemed to _call_ to him. Did he just think of another man as pretty? Steve supposed he had.

James considered simply shutting the door on the blond, his heart pounded heavily in his chest. Steve could see him . . . the notion was so surreal that the demon thought he could very well be dreaming right now. However, the brunet held his hand out to the blond and said, “yeah, traveling always drains me, ya know? I'm James . . . it's a pleasure to finally meet you . . . your uh - - father talks about you all the time.”

Enveloping that long-fingered, almost delicate-seeming hand in his own large one, Steve smiled wider. “Funny, he said he hadn’t had the chance to meet you yet.” But Steve didn’t mind the man . . . James . . . trying to smooth over the awkward relationship between his friend Peggy and Steve’s father. The woman looked young enough to be Da’s daughter.

If the ground could've opened up and taken him to hell . . . James would've taken that over the awkward air that seemed to surround them. Dropping Steve's hand to rub the back of his neck nervously, the demon chuckled slightly, “oh . . . yeah. Guess ya caught me. I'm a . . . friend of Peggy's.”

Nodding, the blond leaned on the doorframe. “That’s what she said. Also said you were exhausted and might not want to leave your room tonight. I suppose I should let you eat and rest.” He rubbed the back of his own neck, in an unconscious gesture.

“Not all that hungry,” James shrugged softly, he opened the door wider, “but I could use some company. Been on my own for _years_. Some human interaction would probably do me some good.” That technically wasn't a lie . . . he'd been out of sync for most of the last four years while with Steve overseas.

“Well, you’ll probably be disappointed,” Steve chuckled walking in past James. “I’m pretty bad at human interaction.” The blond turned once he was in the room and smiled at James, his eyes running over the other man without realizing he did so. He just knew that he suddenly had the desire to strip this man and paint him. Flushing, Steve tried to hide the unusual thought; he rarely had the urge to literally paint a stranger’s form . . . but this man’s body promised to be everything Steve found aesthetically pleasing in another human.

Chuckling lightly, James shook his head, “you and me both, kid.”

Steve chuckled softly. “Kid? You can’t be older than me by, what, three or four years?”

_Try a hundred and eighty_ , James thought, his lips pulling into a smirk. Sometimes he forgot that he only looked twenty-five, his aging having been stunted when his soul had been taken. “I’m wise beyond my years, Steve,” the brunet teased.

“Well, then you have me beat,” Steve conceded. “I’ve had a fairly sheltered life.”

“Oh? Since when is saving lives in Pakistan sheltered?” James asked quirking a brow, looking amused.

Shaking his head, Steve said “oh, that’s going around now? I was only doing my job. And I had help.” He stood there in the center of the room, smiling, flushing self-consciously.

Humming a noise of understanding, James nodded and sank into the chair at the desk, “well, I’ve heard units are pretty close. I’m sure your fellow soldiers thought more of the miracles you performed than you just simply _doing your job_.”

Steve shook his head. “ _I_ didn’t perform miracles. I did what I was trained to do. Any miracles came from a power beyond me.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Ah, yes, keeping a man alive while his intestines are falling out is not a miracle . . . forgive me,” James didn’t know why he insisted on arguing this point . . . this conversation was heading nowhere good, fast.

Flushing deeper, Steve sighed. “All medics are taught combat rescue, James. I did what I was taught. Clint lived by the grace of someone higher than me. If you want to believe someone worked through me, go ahead, but I only did my job.” Hanging his head a bit, Steve suddenly looked up through his long lashes at the other man. “But, I get it. Thank you. I _am_ glad I was in the right place at the right time to help.”

Looking down at the tray of food that Sharon had brought, James picked up the dinner roll and bit into it, the bread felt dry and, like always, the flavor was nearly nonexistent. Swallowing the food, the demon grimaced softly and put the roll back on the tray. Standing up, the brunet asked, “So, Steve . . . tell me, aside from saving people’s lives . . . what else is it that you do?”

Shrugging lightly, tracking James’ every move without realizing he was doing so, Steve said, “I don’t save lives anymore, actually. I didn’t re-up. I don’t have a job. Might go to college, but I’m toying with a couple of other ideas right now.” He smiled softly. “But I do love to draw, as a hobby.”

“Draw?” James mused, nodding his head, “never good myself, but I imagine you do some good work. You have artist hands.”

Pulling his large hands from his pockets and looking at them, Steve chuckled. “Really? You have the more traditional hands of an artist or musician. My hands look like they belong to a construction worker.” He lifted his smile to James.

“My hands have never created beauty,” James said on a soft sigh.

“Never found the right beauty to create then,” Steve countered with a smile. “You’ll find it. Maybe even gardening . . . if you don’t mind dirt.” The blond chuckled.

Barking a laugh, James shook his head and his tone dropped to a seductive level, “oh, I don’t mind getting a bit dirty.”

Steve’s breath hitched and the tip of his tongue darted out to moisten his lush lips. “Being dirty never hurt anyone . . .” he breathed, blue eyes steady on James. Did James feel the attraction, too?

James swallowed and forced himself to look away. What was he doing? Flirting with Steve - - pure, loving Steve? He couldn’t do this . . . his energy was far too dark for him to ever think he could have a chance with the man he’d watched his entire life.

Taking a soft step towards the smaller man, Steve almost whispered, “this is going to sound pretty forward, James, but . . . I’d love to draw you. Before my visit is over. If you don’t mind?”

“Draw me?” James had to actually look up at Steve, his steel-blue eyes widening.

Stepping over to the chair, Steve kneeled down in front of it in a smooth movement. “It doesn’t have to be in the nude, unless you don’t mind . . . though I love drawing the nude body. You are so beautiful,” he whispered without planning his words, flushing darker.

“No, I’m not . . .” James shook his head, leaning back away from the blond. Why had he thought this would have been a good idea? He should’ve never opened that damn door . . . he needed to leave before this escalated to something Steve would never come back from.

“Not tonight if you’re too tired.” Steve added, backing up a bit, almost as if he could sense James’ thoughts. “But give it some thought? If you want to see my work, I’ve got my portfolio downstairs.” The blond lifted his hands as if he would grip the armrests then dropped them instead. “I can pay you as a model if you rather keep it more professional?”

James shook his head, he needed to get out of here . . . this had been such a horrible idea. “I - - I gotta go . . .” the brunet stood and moved towards the door, his whole body buzzing with want and desire. Dangerous desire that could earn Steve a one-way ticket to hell.

Steve instantly stood and backed off, across the room. “No, I’m sorry, James. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. This is your room. I’ll leave.” He flushed brightly by then. The tall blond turned, fumbled to door open, and fled down the hall. He’d actually been hitting on the guy, and James had been uncomfortable. Steve didn’t even know the guy. Damn . . . why’d he do something so forward? He never did stuff like that. Steve slipped into his own bedroom and shut the door, leaning on the wood, breathing heavily. What had happened to his normal shyness? And how could he forget that he had to keep his private desires secret? Homosexuality was treated as a crime in many places and a social disease in others.

Shutting his bedroom door, James leaned his forehead against the solid surface, hands braced in front of him. His body nearly vibrated with the desperate urge to run down that hall, open Steve’s door and crash his own mouth against those plush, oh-so-kissable lips. His hands clenched into fists; it took everything in him not to unsync and check in on the blond . . . make sure he was okay.

A feeling of guilt washed over Steve as he stripped, walking towards his bed. He hadn’t meant to make that beautiful man so uncomfortable. The blond knew he had to be careful in the future . . . but for tonight, he would give in to his dirty secret desire. Steve stretched out on his bed, taking his pulsing erection in hand, and masterbated to the image of James.


	6. Answers Don't Always Answer Questions

A soft knock sounded on James’ door, a hint of intense sexual energy leaking around the protective barrier.

James, still leaning against the door, straightened and cracked it open, checking to see if it was Steve.

It certainly wasn’t Steve, though the very faint sounds of the man down the hall could be picked up by a demon’s sensitive hearing, even if other humans would remain unaware. No, it was Peggy that stood in the doorway. She smiled at him.

Opening the door wider, James gestured for the angel to step inside.

“If I go in there, your neutral barrier will end, James. Come down to the den. It won’t be energy free, but you are strong enough now to tolerate it.” She turned and led the way, directly past Steve’s room.

James could sense and smell the sexual activity going on behind that closed door. The demon flushed when he heard the faintest, erotic cry of his own name escaping the blond’s lips. Trying his hardest to not think about that particular detail, the brunet stepped closer to Peggy. “I - - I promise I didn’t mean . . .”

“If you had, you would be in there with him,” she said simply. Walking softly down the steps, Peggy led James into a comfortably appointed den with plush leather chairs and a large wooden desk, a fireplace nearby but unlit. “Sit, James, get comfortable.” She perched on the edge of one chair.

Sitting in one of the leather chairs, James bounced his knee, folding his hands together in his lap.

“You have been searching for me for some time, I understand,” Peggy opened.

“And you ain’t easy to find, let me tell you,” James said, eyes snapping up to look at the beautiful brunette.

She laughed, a strong laugh, not a tinkling bell sound like people seemed to imagine angels making. “If I were easy to find, James, _he_ would have tracked down Sharon years ago.”

“I’m trying to keep him off your scent . . .” James began.

“My scent?” she sounded amused, “or Steve’s scent?”

“Both? I mean, obviously I’m putting more of an effort into Steve’s wellbeing,” the demon said honestly.

She nodded, still smiling. “Yes, I noticed.” The angel smoothed her skirt. “So, you have reason to want to see me. What do you wish?”

“I need answers,” James’ knee stopped moving and his eyes hardened with determination.

“If I can give them, they will be your’s. But, I am limited in what I can say,” Peggy answered.

“Yeah, yeah,” James waved impatiently, “the _man upstairs_ has some pretty strict rules, I get it. But the night at the hospital _you knew what I was_ , right?”

Peggy nodded. “I know what you were, what you are, and what you would have been.”

“Stop speaking in riddles . . . if you knew what I was . . . what _I am_ . . . why’d you let me touch Steve? I’d just killed his mother.” The demon shook his head, running his hand through his hair.

“Killed his mother?” Peggy tilted her head. “Why do you think you killed Sarah Rogers?”

“While I was performing the protective curse . . . I - - I swear I didn’t mean to wake her up . . .” James’ words softened, almost into a plea.

“Ah,” Peggy nodded and sat back a bit, looking thoughtful. “How much can I say?” She smiled, “your ritual had its purpose. It kept the three undetected for the birth.” She met his eyes. “But you did not kill Sarah Rogers. I did.”

Standing up, James hissed, “what?”

Sighing, Peggy nodded towards the chair. “Sit, James. I can explain some. But I am not sure if you will understand yet. You may not be ready to.”

Crossing his arms, disobeying the angel’s orders, the demon’s jaw ticked, “I’d prefer to stand, thanks. Please . . . tell me what the hell is going on? Why do I feel like I’m just a pawn in this complicated game?”

Nodding, Peggy smoothed her skirt again and spoke calmly in her clipped British accent. “I was there that night for one purpose. To take Steve. He was meant to die.” She looked up. “You weren’t supposed to be there. When you showed, I saw a different path open up. So, I let the doctor hand you the infant instead of me.”

“How did you know I wouldn’t have tried to perform the ritual? I could’ve damned him to hell.” The demon shook his head.

She shook her head. “I didn’t. All I knew is that I was there for a life. I made the choice to take Sarah instead.” Peggy straightened, watching him directly. “I am an angel of death, James.”

“So you killed Sarah Rogers?” James mused, a small sense of relief washing over him. All this time he believed he’d been responsible for Steve’s mother’s death.

“As I said. I was assigned to take someone from that trio. It was supposed to be Steve. But since you touched him first, he was protected from me. The choice was either Sarah or Sharon. I chose Sarah.” She shook her head. “And before you mention that Sarah died before you had the infant in hand, recall that angels see the future, too. I knew you would be after him, I just hadn’t expected you to make it.”

“Almost didn’t . . . if it hadn’t been for Brock,” James sighed and ran his fingers through his messy hair.

“Ah, the sexual demon. Yes, he is an odd companion for _you_.” Peggy looked intrigued.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m worse than he is by far.”

She didn’t answer that, instead choosing to ask him a question. “Was there anything else you wished to know about?”

James looked over at the angel, “why am I stronger when I’m with him?”

“So, you _have_ noticed,” she murmured. “I cannot say much, but let me remind you that he is your compatible soul. That gives you energy.”

Biting his bottom lip, the demon nodded once and then looked over at Peggy, eyes apprehensive, “is - - is there any other way to get my soul back?”

Sighing, Peggy met his eyes once more. “You have been lied to for far too long and therefore taken many wrong turns. You are paying your penance now for what you have done in blind error. That will help, James. But it will not erase the original sin of giving over your soul, despite how it happened. You still need to follow the law, _A Soul for a Soul_.”

Eyes falling to the floor, James’ whole body deflated in defeat.

“You knew that your journey would mean the endangerment of Steve. That is why you protected and raised him, James. Do not back from your path now,” the angel of death encouraged.

“I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want power or immortality. I was _happy_ with who I was,” James murmured, eyes still focused on the elaborate rug on the floor.

Nodding, Peggy said, “demons strike when humans are happy or weak. You had a good heart and _he_ found a way to use that against you.”

“I’m stuck like this, aren’t I?” James raised his eyes.

“Not if you carry through with what you started, James. You can be free again,” she answered simply.

“I can’t do that to Steve . . . and I’m pretty damn sure you aren’t offering Sharon as a sacrifice,” James laughed, a bitter, pained sound.

“I offer no sacrifice but the one you are willing to make, James.” Peggy rose to her feet gracefully. “You love Steve. That is good. Enjoy that love while he lives.”

“So either I take his soul when he turns thirty-three or I force myself to watch him live out his short, human life and standby as he grows old and wait until _you_ pay him another visit,” James sighed, he already knew which he’d choose. He _couldn’t_ take Steve’s soul.

“A sacrifice wouldn’t be a sacrifice if it didn’t hurt, James. As I said, enjoy your love while he lives.” Peggy tilted her head. “Was there anything else?”

James looked over at Peggy, “why are you with Joseph . . . is he - - are you . . .”

“Yes, he will pass in his sleep tonight, James,” she answered softly.

The demon stumbled back, eyes wide, “but - - he’s healthy?”

“Is he? Do you still not understand how your own curses work? You must draw the energy from somewhere.” She smiled softly, a pretty smile, nothing malicious in the look. “He has had lung cancer for years . . . fourteen years . . .”

“ _I_ gave him cancer?” James’ hands trembled and the room buzzed with anxious, guilt-ridden energy.

“ _You_ saved a child of eight on the second visit I was to make. You stopped me before I could arrive, so I conceded at the time. I allowed the child to have his father for another few years, but the man has been dying slowly instead. A life for a life, as always, James. If it hadn’t been Joe, it would have been Steve.” Peggy spread her hands in a peaceful, benign, gesture.

The demon’s eyes flickered, the blackness taking over, he gripped the edge of the leather seat, his knuckles turning white. “I - - I can’t _stop hurting people_ . . .” the pictures on the wall began to shake slightly.

She sighed and reached out to touch his hand, a soothing sweet ache coursing through him. “I will try to explain this, but I may not be able to. An angel of death must first live. And if things go correctly, upon that human’s death, she or he becomes what is destined. However, if interrupted, that path will not deviate, just . . .” she looked like she literally struggled to speak. Finally, she gave up and shook her head, changing what she had been going to say. “A demon may take a life for many reasons, without even knowing the true path that life was meant to take. Some demons fulfil a . . . higher purpose?” She shook her head. “No, I cannot explain this further. You will know when you are ready and not before.”

James’ lip pulled into a sneer, his dark eyes staring at the angel, “I am tired of this game!”

Looking mildly surprised, Peggy called after him, “Steve’s life is a game for you?”

The walls shook with more force as the demon snapped, “of course it isn’t! If it were . . . I wouldn’t have followed him into a goddamned war zone.”

“Were you terribly traumatized in that war, James?” she sounded sympathetic. “I can sooth those memories until they no longer hurt.”

“I don’t need an angel messing with my head,” James snarled.

“You are friends with the fallen one called Natasha, yes?” Peggy asked suddenly.

“What does she have to do with this?” the demon growled.

“I wondered if she has asked you to help her regain her wings,” Peggy’s tone sounded simple, curious.

“Regain her wings? She asked me for a soul . . . Clint’s soul, actually,” the walls had stopped shaking but his eyes did not fade back to normal.

Peggy smiled. “Yes, and you managed to stop me from collecting him, as well. Such a busy life saver, James.” She sounded amused.

“But with each one I save . . . I seem to take another,” James sighed.

“You are not above the laws, James. A life for a life. When you saved Clint, the man shooting at you died. His gun slipped from his hands, still firing.” Peggy watched James carefully. “And he was a child-beater when he wasn’t shooting his enemy. Your saving Clint allowed me to choose someone else to take. A messy, unfair system.”

James sighed heavily, his eyes finally returning to their steel-blue state.

“If it helps you understand, in my duties I am limited to souls within a certain distance of the dying. I have a limited time to choose and a limited field. Normally, a relative or close friend is the one who is taken instead. However, as the man was directly trying to kill Clint and Steve, that connected them intimately. Does that make sense?”

“You angels and your ridiculous rules,” James shook his head.

“And you think demons don’t follow rules? That you may wield power and energy for any reason at any time?” She shook her head. “Now you know better, don’t you. For every bit of power you use, it is coming from somewhere or someone else. Angels spend their existence trying to balance the energy shift demons wreak havoc with.”

“There isn’t exactly a _‘Being a Demon: For Dummies,’_ we often aren’t told these guidelines.”

“There is, though,” Peggy chuckled softly. “It is an a specific library. And you have been denied it because _he_ never lets his collections know just how they can thwart what he’s done.”

“Pierce has something like that?” James looked thoughtful.

“Of course. And it is very easy to read, translates to any language you like. It would be kept very well protected. Demons play by rules as well, but they never are told this. If they were told, and actually followed their part, there would be no war on the horizon.” Peggy shook her head.

“Do you know where he keeps it?” James asked quickly.

Sighing, Peggy shook her head. “No, but maybe a fallen one would? As ever, fallen ones collect information as their source of power.”

“I’m going to take him down, Peggy, if it’s the last thing I do,” James said in a strong, determined tone.

“Let me tell you one last thing, in your quest, James,” she stopped smiling. “If you make the right sacrifice, it will force me to act . . . and someone nearby will be taken.” She folded her hands in front of her. “Go, rest, think . . . and enjoy your love while he lives.”


	7. Hell of a Night

A sense of grief washed past James’ bedroom, waves, palpable but kept at bay by the protective neutrality of the room. A faint echo of the emotion seemed to pulse, like sobs on the air.

Pushing off his bed, James opened his door and looked in the hall. He knew what had happened; Peggy had told him that Joseph Rogers would die.

The grief came from the downstairs, where voices talked, all with British accents in hushed tones. Slowly, Sharon Carter walked up the steps, tears running down her face, black cloth in her arms. She stopped and covered the mirror in the upper hall then made her way into the first bedroom.

James slipped out of his protected room and the emotional energy hit him like a freight train, actually leaving him gasping for breath and the amulet burning.

Sharon walked out of that room then into the next. Steve’s energy could be felt downstairs, along with Clint’s, and several strangers. Peggy seemed not to be there.

Using the wall and then the handrail to keep himself steady, the demon began to make his way down the stairs.

Sharon called softly, “James? Joseph passed away.” Her voice hitched.

Looking over his shoulder, pale blue eyes pained, James nodded once and then continued his way downstairs to find Steve.

All of the mirrors had been covered in black cloth and several people stood around in the front parlor and the main dining room, talking softly. There was no sign of medical or police, nor of Joseph’s body. Steve sat in the den, by himself. Clint seemed to be in the kitchen.

The tall blond had his head in his hands, tears streaming silently down his face. If it weren’t for the palpable grief coming from the man, one might think he was merely asleep in one the awkward positions people tended to drift off in.

“Steve?” James rasped out, he leaned against the doorway, not entering the room.

“Bucky?” Steve called before looking up then sobbing. “Sorry . . . uh . . . James. I . . . you sounded like someone I know.”

James nodded and stepped further into the room, the grief the blond exuded almost overwhelmed the demon.

Blinking, sensing Bucky somewhere near for the first time since entering his father’s house, Steve couldn’t help but look behind the lovely, grieving man approaching. Knowing he wouldn’t see his angel, Steve turned his attention to the beautiful near-stranger instead. “James?” Ever one to look out for someone else, Steve started pushing down his grief so he could console James. He held out his arms without thinking.

The demon didn’t think . . . taking Peggy’s words to heart, James walked over to where Steve sat and reached over to wrap his arms around the blond. “It’s okay, Steve . . . you don’t hafta be strong right now. You can cry.”

Pulling James onto his lap without hesitation, the blond buried his face in the other man’s neck and let himself weep. He held James tight. Softly, in a tear-wrecked voice, Steve said, “he never told me. Sharon said it was lung cancer, but Da never told me. I didn’t even know he was sick.”

“People do strange things in order to protect the ones they love, Steve. And it’s obvious he loved you very much . . . you made him so proud,” the demon ran his nimble fingers through Steve’s short hair, the other running in a soothing pattern down the blond’s back.

Hugging James, holding him close, Steve buried his face in the man’s neck. He nodded his acknowledgement of the words, but he still grieved. Long minutes, more than Steve would be able to account for, passed before the sobs lightened, Steve’s breath coming in jagged gasps reminiscent of when he was young and unwell.

Without thinking, James pressed his lips to Steve’s temple lightly.

Lifting his face, Steve turned his head to brush his lips over James’, a hungry energy, one of need and loneliness, emanating from the blond.

James’ eyes widened and as soon as Steve’s lips met his, his whole body burned with the purity of the blond’s soul. It was not the soothing ache that he felt with Peggy, but a painful, searing burn running through every vein. The pendant burned hotter than it ever had, making the demon think it had to be actually blistering his skin. The brunet let out a pained gasp and pushed off Steve’s lap, collapsing to the hard, wooden floor.

“James?” Steve’s eyes opened wide and he looked contrite, confused and ashamed. “I . . . I’m sorry. I . . . I . . .”

James’ eyes, involuntarily, swarmed with pitch blackness, the walls shook with the pain he felt rushing through his body.

“Bucky?” Steve looked up and around, going paler. “No, I’m sorry!” He looked at James. “I . . . I didn’t mean to . . .” The blond stood and practically ran from the room, bumping into several strangers along the way and ignoring them, heading into his room, trying to get away from the temptation of James . . . forbidden temptation if Bucky’s reaction was anything to go by.

“Steve!” James called, meaning to shout the name, but it came out as a pained breath of air. He tried to get to his feet but collapsed.

A strong arm came around the demon and helped him stand, taking his weight along a muscular body. Clint softly said, “you okay, buddy?”

James tried to walk but his knees buckled under the weight. He needed to get to Steve . . . but his entire body ached and throbbed.

“Whoa, I got ya. Lean on me,” Clint admonished. The shorter, stockier ex-soldier practically carried James up the steps and to his bedroom at the end of the hall. Opening the door one handed, Clint grinned. “Whoa, feels like a peaceful oasis in here. C’mon, you need to lie down. Take out those contacts . . .”

Stepping into the bedroom, James’ pain lowered to a dull, whole-body throb. Immediately his eyes cleared to show pained, worried steel-blue.

“Whoa, those weren’t contacts,” Clint remarked. “Uh, okay, weird. Either you got the funkiest eyes on the planet, or Steve’s talk about angels and stuff has some merit.” The blond shook his head. “Look, my name’s Clint. We didn’t get to meet. You need anything?”

James sunk onto the edge of the bed, throwing his head in his hands with a low growl of frustration. If the kiss had hurt him that bad . . . the demon didn’t even want to think of the effect it had on Steve.

Nodding slowly, Clint said, “you aren’t well, are you? Joe’s death . . . that’s a pretty big blow. Let me get you some help.” The stocky blond trotted from the room.

“No!” James called out, head snapping up. He shot to his feet, swaying slightly, trying to catch Clint.

Steve appeared in the doorway, Clint just behind him. The tall, muscular blond looked worried and ashamed. “James? Clint said you need help? I . . . I’m sorry about earlier. Let me help you? You know I’m a medic . . .”

The shorter soldier offered James a smile from behind Steve then headed down the hall, oblivious to the havoc he was wreaking.

“It wasn’t you,” James rasped, shaking his head, “you don’t have anything to be sorry about.” The demon motioned for the blond to step further into the room, “can ya close the door?”

Obeying, Steve walked in and closed the door behind him. He walked over to James and hesitated then placed a gentle hand on the man’s forehead. A soothing sensation came with the touch, as Steve’s energy was muted by the spell, too. “Thank you for comforting me down there. I didn’t mean to take advantage.”

James scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Oh, please. Steve, you didn’t take advantage . . . I - - I wanted that to happen okay? I just get . . . uh - - dizzy spells sometimes?” That wasn’t a complete lie . . . he often did feel lightheaded.

Sinking onto the floor on his knees to be more of a level with the seated James, Steve asked softly, “you wanted me to kiss you?” He studied the man’s eyes, hand going softly to James’ wrist to instinctively check for his pulse.

Eyes falling to look at Steve’s fingers on his wrist, James swallowed and nodded once.

With a soft intake of breath, Steve said “maybe we can start again?” He offered a small, almost nervous smile. “Hey, I’m Steve and I think you’re beautiful. I want to draw you . . . and more, but I get that it’s pretty much a taboo thing.”

“I’m James,” the demon started, smiling weakly, “and I think you, Steve, are pretty as sin. I wouldn’t mind being your model and I am prone to dizzy spells.”

Licking his lips, Steve said, “well, you can model laying down, James . . .”

Looking over at Steve, James shifted and then laid down on his back, both arms tucking under his head. “Well, Mr. Artist, ya gonna paint me like one of your french girls?” The demon’s lips pulled into a suggestive smirk.

Steve snickered and moved so he practically lay over James, his hands cupping the lean man by the waist. He leaned in close, “I don’t have french girls.” His blue eyes danced. “And I don’t have my paints with me right now.” He took a chance, leaning down and kissing James again on the lips, eyes closing.

James felt no pain this time, just the uncontrollable need and want of Steve; the demon wrapped his arms around the human’s neck and deepened the kiss, tongue running across the seam of the blond’s lips.

A soft groan of need escaped Steve’s throat and he tilted his head to better seal their mouths. He caressed his hands down to James’ waist then upward, dragging the hem of the brunet’s shirt with his clever, strong fingers, rough skin ghosting over James’ flesh.

Arching into the touch, James moaned and moved his mouth to suck gently on Steve’s neck, nipping at the sensitive flesh.

Whimpering at the pleasure lightly laced with pain, Steve opened his eyes and smiled. He moved to kiss James’ neck, following down his shoulder, pushing the neck of James’ shirt out of the way as he worked. Slowly, after a long moment, Steve sat up, bringing his leg over to straddle the other man. The blond tugged off his pajama top then leaned back down, his dogtags brushing his skin and dangling to touch James’ chest with a soft clank.

“Steve . . .” James breathed, knowing he shouldn’t be doing this . . . but something felt so right about this . . . like they belonged together.

“Yeah, James,” Steve breathed against the brunet’s neck. He tugged the shirt up further, using one hand to help James lift off the bed enough for the blond to remove the shirt completely. Steve tossed it to the floor with his own, not even looking. He began to trace kisses down James’ chest, lapping lightly at a dusky nipple.

Letting out a loud moan, James’ hands moved to play with the waistband of Steve’s sleep pants. This was wrong . . . so, so wrong. But nothing had felt so _right_. “Fuck . . . Steve . . .”

The blond lifted his mouth a mere fraction, the moist heat of him still lingering over James’ puckering flesh. “Did I do something . . . wrong, James?” the blond breathed in a low, lusty rasp. “You gotta show me what you want, baby. I’ve never done this before.” He caressed his hand down James’ abdomen, his fingers dipping slightly under the brunet’s waistband.

Hooking one leg around Steve’s waist, the brunet pushed off the bed, and with an incredible feat of strength, flipped them, so that he straddled the blond’s waist.

Steve smiled, blue eyes darkened with desire.

James leaned down and licked a trail down Steve’s abdomen, stopping just above the waistband. “I’ve learned a few tricks over the years, Stevie.”

“Teach me, James. I wanna love you.” Steve stroked a hand through the demon’s hair.

Smirking devilishly, James pulled at the waistband of Steve’s pants; the blond canted his hips to let James pull the material off, exposing the fact that he hadn’t put on his drawers after masterbating and washing up earlier. He was already more than half erect with his desire.

“Beautiful,” James breathed, using his fingers to wrap around the base of Steve’s member.

With a low groan, Steve bucked his hips slightly. “Yes, James . . .” he breathed, his eyes blowing black, the blue practically invisible.

Smirking still, James leaned back down to suck gently at the tip of Steve’s erection, tongue swirling around the cockhead. His other hand moved down to caress the blond’s heavy sac.

A whimper broke from Steve and he tried to keep his hips still under the sensual onslaught. “James, yes . . . please . . .” The blond tangled his fingers in James’ short hair, trying not to tug.

Pushing his head further down, taking more of Steve’s impressive length, James kept going, opening his throat to completely engulf the member. Still massaging the blond’s balls in one hand, the other moved to grip Steve’s hip. The demon began to suck, hollowing his cheeks.

Tugging very lightly on James’ hair, Steve threw his head back and moaned. His other hand trailed down the brunet’s back, fingernails lightly tracing over the warm skin. Steve thrashed his head with each suck, fighting the urge to just thrust himself down the other man’s throat, his hips moving once in awhile.

As if reading Steve’s mind, James patted the blond’s hip gently in an attempt to tell the human that it was okay to thrust and fuck his mouth.

Finally, giving in, somehow feeling James wanted it too, Steve bucked his hips with a groan, his member shunting further into the brunet’s throat. Steve closed his eyes and whimpered, tightening his hand in James’ hair, thrusting again and again, close and needing release. “James, yes, so . . . good . . . baby.”

James moaned around Steve’s erection, sending vibrations up from his throat.

“Shit!” Steve tried to tug James’ head off, “Baby, I’m gonna . . . oh, God, James. . .” His balls tightened and he could feel that aching deep in his belly.

Gripping Steve’s hip tighter, the demon moaned again and sucked harder, determined to push the blond past the edge.

With a shout, Steve came, hot ropes of seed pumping into James’ throat as the blond jerked erratically under him. “God, yes, James!”

James swallowed all of Steve’s cum; pulling off slightly, the brunet sucked at the tip of the spent member to make sure that the flesh was completely clean.

Panting, feeling his head spin as his chest heaved, Steve stroked James’ hair, though his body still ached for more. He wriggled slightly under James, dropping kisses as he could on the brunet’s head, curling his body to do so. “Baby, you . . . God, that was . . . amazing!”

Finally pulling off Steve with an obscene pop, James beamed up at Steve, a trail of saliva running down the corner of his mouth.

With a moan, Steve pulled James up for a deep kiss, tasting himself and uncaring. He thrust his tongue into the brunet’s mouth and hummed in delight. His hand reached down to encircle James’ member, stroking lightly. Breaking the kiss, Steve moaned, “James, you can . . . yeah?” He kissed the demon’s neck.

Groaning low, eyes slipping shut, James thrust into Steve’s hand. “Stevie . . .”

Having no idea what he was doing, going on pure lustful instinct, Steve guided James’ member down to his passage and breathed, “go ahead, James, I want you . . . please . . .”

Eyes snapping open, the demon groaned but pulled away slightly, “not tonight, doll.” His voice came out breathless as his chest heaved.

“You still haven’t cum, James’,” Steve pointed out on a groan. “It’ll be good for us.” He kissed James’ neck, nipping lightly behind the ear.

James’ hands instantly wrapped around Steve, purring lustfully in pleasure as the blond seemed to find one of his most sensitive spots. “P - - plenty of . . . _Christ_ , Steve - -”

With a near wicked smile, pupils blown wide, Steve maneuvered the other man’s erection back to his passage, tracing the tip against himself. “You need release, baby . . .” he moaned softly.

“Gotta . . . _Steve_ ,” James panted, “we can’t . . . you hafta be stretched first.”

“Really?” Steve panted, eyes meeting James’ as the blond caressed the brunet’s tip against his hole, wiggling as the big tip fit snugly at his entrance. “I think this feels just right, James,” he moaned.

“You little punk . . .” James growled low, eyes half-lidded and tip leaking precum, “I’m trying to keep from hurting you. Just - - just use your hand for tonight, doll.”

“You sure?” Steve purred out, low and needy. “I bet I’ll feel better inside than in my hand, James . . .” The virgin had no clue what he was playing at, just going on pure desire.

“ _Fuck_ ,” James ground out, hips canting, his member in desperate need for a release. “Stretching you out will take time . . . time I don’t have right now, doll.”

“Don’t mind,” Steve panted, shimmying his hips, eyes widening at the painful burning that started stretching him. But somehow, instinctively, the man knew it would feel damn fine once they were truly together as one.

“ _Steve_!” James gasped and forced himself out of the blond’s passage, “shit!” The demon leaned over to the bedside table, hoping at least to find lotion or _something_ he could use. Finding a small bottle of hand lotion, the demon breathed a sigh of relief and squirted a generous amount onto his fingers.

The blond reached over and slowly stroked at James’ erection. “It’s okay, baby, I can take it. Wanna feel you . . . make you feel good, James.”

“You will,” James huffed a breath; who would have thought that pure Steve Rogers would be the one pressuring the demon into sex. “Just let me stretch you a little first. I don’t want to hurt you.” Slowly, the brunet traced one slick finger against the blond’s entrance before pushing in, not stopping until the second knuckle.

Gasping at the painful burn and the underlying pleasure, Steve bucked his hips slightly, head thrown back. He closed his eyes and nodded. “Yes, James, I wanna be ready for you . . . wanna make you feel good, baby . . .”

Groaning low, James leaned over to start kissing and sucking on Steve’s collarbone, leaving bright red marks that would be sure to turn to bruises in the morning.

Lifting his head, Steve stroked the demon’s erection, the entire length, tip to taint. “Hurry up, James, want you inside me, baby,” he moaned.

“So bossy,” James muttered against the blond’s skin but continued to push his finger deeper inside Steve’s passage, wiggling and brushing up against the other man’s prostate as he stretched the tight heat.

Slamming his head back into the pillows at the explosion of pleasure, Steve keened out. Unsure just what James had done, the blond felt vindicated in having _known_ this would be good with James. He lifted his head, breath coming in short gasps. “That felt amazing . . . James, I want _you_.”

“Patience is a virtue, you know?” James breathed, a second finger pressing against the human’s entrance. Had this been any other being or human, James would’ve given in and slammed into the passage, giving the other person exactly what they wanted. However, this was _Steve_. James could not hurt Steve.

“Yeah? But James, I wanna do this with you . . . make you feel good . . . take you all the way over the edge,” Steve moaned softly, looking at the other man’s eyes. He could feel more burning pain, but waited patiently, or impatiently, for the pleasure he knew would surely follow.

James pushed in the second finger, scissoring slightly and making sure to stroke the blond’s prostate again.

“Oh! Oh God!” Steve’s hips left the mattress and his head fell back again. “That’s . . .” he couldn’t find the words, the voice to express how he knew he needed more despite the surface pain. He just needed _James_. “Damn, please . . .” he whimpered. “James . . .”

Once James was satisfied that he wouldn’t at least tear Steve open, the demon pulled his fingers out and slicked himself up with the lotion, almost painfully hard by then. Lining up, James looked down at Steve.

Steve lifted his head, eyes meeting James’, and he breathed out. “Love me, James . . . make me yours, baby,” he breathed, eyes locked with the brunet’s.

Groaning, eyes not leaving Steve’s, the demon slowly pushed into the tight channel.

Body trembling at the intense pain, the underlying pleasure, the immense fullness, Steve gripped the sheet in his hands tightly, eyes staying locked with the brunet’s. He let out a low keen of need and hurt, and the blond pushed his hips up, canting to take more, to meet that long thrust, legs wrapping around the other man’s hips.

“Shit! Doll,” James’ head fell back as he bottomed out, “I don’t want to hurt you . . .”

Steve, on a low growl, breathed, “but you hurt me so good, James.” He reached up a hand to wrap around the back of the demon’s neck and tugged him down for a soul searing deep kiss.

Deepening the kiss, James pulled back his hips and then pushed slowly back in.

A keen of need started in Steve’s throat as he continued to kiss James, hips trying to find the rhythm the other man set. He didn’t care about the burning pain, the hint of blood from the slight tear, the breathless aching; Steve wanted to be one with this man he’d met only hours ago and felt he’d known a lifetime.

Picking up the pace, James knew he wouldn’t last long, his body needing the release; Steve’s tight passage nearly overwhelmed him. The demon broke the kiss and said, “almost there, doll.”

Reaching down between them with one strong hand, Steve managed to encircle James’ heavy sac and squeeze gently. “C’mon, baby . . . for me . . .” His words came out as a needy whine by then.

James’ eyes rolled back; letting out a loud moan, the demon thrust a few more times before losing himself over the edge of his orgasm. “Steve!” James groaned as he rode out the pleasurable feeling.

The blond threw his head back and keened. “God, yes, James, give me everything!” He found himself tumbling over the edge for the third time that night, hot semen coating their abdomens in jets of cum, practically matching James burst for burst.

It was some time before the blond came down off his orgasmic high, holding James on top of him, cum and sweat practically sealing them together. Steve groaned at the over-sensitive burning roar in his ass and the aching throb in his flaccid member. He stroked James’ hair with a trembling hand, eyes half closed in utter lust-drained exhaustion. “James, baby? You okay?” he whispered to his lover.

Breathing heavily, James nodded and kissed Steve’s sweaty forehead before leaning over to grab his pants. Carefully, the demon began to wipe off the mess on the blond’s abdomen, not caring about soiling his own clothes.

Stretching, hissing a bit at the pain, Steve gave James’ a lazy smile, full of wonder. “That was . . . damn, James . . . never felt like this before.” His eyes were still lust darkened, and his tone was husky.

James offered a tired chuckle and as soon as he finished cleaning the blond’s chest, the demon moved to look down between Steve’s legs. Frowning severely at the sight of blood, the brunet said, “I hurt you . . .”

Giving a tired chuckle, Steve answered, “I’ve been told it always hurts to lose your virginity. I’m okay.”

The demon wanted to take all of Steve’s pain away but he knew he couldn’t, not in this room . . . and he still hadn’t fully accepted that he’d been the one to give Joseph lung cancer . . . but the demon wouldn’t change what he’d done. Steve would always come first . . . no matter what.

Smiling, reaching up to touch James’ cheek, Steve asked, “what’s wrong, baby? You look like the weight of the world’s on you.”

Humming softly, James continued to clean his lover, it looked as if the bleeding had already stopped, which soothed the demon a little. “What’s going to happen after tonight? Don’t you live in New York?”

“I can live wherever I want, James. Remember? No job right now. And I’ve gotta . . .” his eyes saddened instantly, “deal with this . . . and Da . . . and . . .” he fell silent, grief welling up once more.

“I’ll stay with you as long as you need me, Steve . . . wherever that may be.” The demon threw his soiled pants near the desk and leaned over to kiss Steve gently on the lips.

Wrapping his trembling arms around the other man, Steve nodded and buried his face in James’ neck. “You didn’t sign up for this, but thank you.” He kissed James lightly on the shoulder. “I never thought I’d initiate a one night stand. And I never thought I’d get lucky enough to find you, James.”

James heart thumped at the mention of a _one night stand_ ; was that all Steve had wanted? Something to make him forget about his grief? The demon reasoned that he probably deserved this . . . he hadn’t done anything to earn someone like Steve . . . someone so good, so pure.

Stroking James’ hair again, Steve rolled slightly to get up. “I can change the sheets and then we can snuggle?” he offered.

Flopping down on the free space on the bed, James let out an exaggerated sigh, “nope. I cannot move. I was attacked by a sex _fiend_. Need cuddles now.”

Laughing, the sound somehow more erotic than ever before, Steve grabbed his own sleep pants. “You stay there then, victim. I’ll be right back.” He moved carefully, obviously aching, as he left the room on a supply run.

James sighed softly and buried his head into the crook of his elbow, he didn’t even care that he was completely naked; he only hoped Steve had thought to shut the door on his way out.

Perhaps ten minutes passed as a cooling breeze wafted repeatedly over James’ body. Finally, the sound of gentle footfalls came back towards the room.

Looking over his shoulder, James offered Steve a lazy smirk, “whatcha got there?”

The blond chuckled and walked in, shutting the door at last. “Got clean linens, water and towels, and something to eat,” he offered, putting everything down on the desk. Walking over, Steve picked up James easily and placed him gently on a chair. “You rest, baby. Let me take care of you,” he purred and began to wash the demon’s body with warm water, kneeling down in front of him.

James hummed in contentment, eyes slipping shut as the warm water relaxed his muscles.

Smiling at James’ reaction, Steve finished cleaning him then reached up and gently touched the sapphire in the braided thong. “Pretty,” he said absently and went to grab another cloth to begin washing himself. He didn’t seem to react to the pendant’s demonic pull or the energy resting inside it.

“Steve?” James called out quietly.

“Yeah?” the blond looked over at his recent lover, smiling. “Whatcha need, James? As soon as I change the sheets we can cuddle . . .”

“Is this a one time thing? Because if it is - - that’s fine . . . but I . . . just wanna know?” James’ eyes opened.

Freezing, wash cloth wrapped around his flaccid member, Steve looked over and frowned softly. “Do . . . do you want it to be?”

At this point, James knew _he_ was already going to hell . . . and if sleeping with a demon got someone there . . . well, there wasn’t much he could do about that now. After a few moments, the demon licked his lips nervously and shook his head. “No, I want - - I want to keep seeing you.”

Relief crossed the blond’s face and he nodded, smiling. “I wanna keep seeing you, too, James.” He finished washing quickly then strode over to the other man. “It started out as a one off, yeah, but . . . I want to see where this goes.”

James smiled tentatively, “me too.” He’d have to ask Peggy how she did the neutralizing spell . . . but this could work. He didn’t have to hide anymore.

Steve leaned down, placing a hand on either armrest, and kissed James longingly. Touching his forehead to the brunet’s, the blond whispered, “you and me, James . . .”


	8. Life Rearranged

In the morning, a warm, strong body lay beside James for the first time in over a century and a half. Steve’s steady breathing showed he was still sleeping off their night of loving and high emotions. A black cloth over the room’s mirror indicated that the house was very much in mourning for the man who had died in the night. On a sigh, Steve turned his face towards James and buried his face in the demon’s neck, hand coming to rest on the brunet’s nude abdomen.

James looked down and smiled softly at the sleeping human, fingers running mindlessly through Steve’s hair. He couldn’t find it in himself to feel guilty . . . he hadn’t pushed Steve into anything - - the blond had initiated everything, despite even some protests from the demon. He needed to talk to Peggy, figure out a way to neutralize his energy around Steve . . . make it so he’d be able to kiss or touch the pure life-source without that searing pain. But he could do this - - he could keep his true form a secret from Steve; it wouldn’t be _that_ hard.

Stretching as he awoke slowly, Steve smiled into the warm neck, pressing into that delightful body. Unlike some people, Steve had total clarity when he awoke that morning. He lifted his head and murmured, “heya, James.” The blond dropped a kiss on the brunet’s shoulder.

“Good morning, doll,” James spoke softly, pressing his lips into Steve’s hair.

“Guess I gotta get up and face the day,” Steve sighed, grief surfacing again.

James nodded and sat up, pulling the blond with him, “yeah . . . anything you need from me?”

“Just for you to be here,” Steve answered and leaned in for a quick kiss. “We need to talk, think things out, later, okay?” He offered a sad smile.

“Of course,” James kissed the blond’s temple and then stood up on strong legs. For the first time in four years, he didn’t feel weak or exhausted. He felt like himself, strong and thrumming with power. He offered a hand to Steve.

The blond reached up and took his lover’s hand, still smiling. He let the other man pull him to his feet. “I’m gonna go get dressed then . . . see to Da, okay? They’re setting up the wake here once he’s embalmed. I need to make sure things are ready.”

“Just let me know if you need anything,” James offered a small nod and smile, his pale blue eyes swarming with affection and love.

Lifting James’ hand to his lips, Steve kissed those long fingers. “Thanks, baby.” He grabbed his sleep pants and slid them on quickly, scooped up their dirty clothes, as well as the used sheets from the night before, and headed out of James’ room.

James sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking around the room, he walked over to the dresser and was slightly surprised to find clothes in his size. Peggy really had thought of everything. Pulling out a pair of dark jeans and a black sweater, James quickly got dressed and left the room. He could instantly feel the palpable grievous energy, but unlike the day before, it didn’t weaken or affect him in any way.

Sharon walked out of a room near the top of the steps, dressed in a light sweater of pale blue and pale yellow jeans. She offered a smile to James. “Feeling better?” she whispered. There was grief behind her eyes.

Nodding once, offering the pure girl a kind smile, James said, “yes, much better. Thank you. Is your Aunt Peggy around?”

Nodding, she said, “in the den with the officials. Do you want breakfast first? There’s a light buffet style set out in the dining room.” The blond turned to precede him down the steps.

Following the blonde, James looked around the clean apartment, not having gotten a good look at the space. The demon could still smell the scent of death, the energy wasn’t necessarily dark - - but it didn’t have the pure feeling that had nearly overcome him the day before.

Sharon paused outside the den door but gestured towards the room across the hall. “The buffet is in the dining room if you want to eat. Aunt Peggy’s in there,” she gestured in the other direction. “I passed Steve on the way up the steps, but I’m not sure where he was heading, and I think Clint is still asleep.”

“Thank you,” James nodded and his eyes flickered towards the den door and then back to the woman.

With a nod, Sharon turned towards the steps once more, her tred slow.

With a deep breath, James lifted his hand and knocked softly on the den door.

“Come in, James,” Peggy’s voice called, calm and welcoming. She looked up and smiled as he pushed his way into the room; the angel was alone for the moment.

Shutting the door quietly behind him, the demon made his way into the room and asked softly, “how do you do that neutralizing spell?”

“You wish to neutralize another area?” she countered, still smiling calmly as she gestured towards one of the leather chairs. She sank onto the edge of one.

Sitting down, James nodded, though his eyes looked apprehensive and his whole body seemed to curl protectively around himself as if expecting some type of punishment. He still didn’t feel guilty about what had happened between himself and Steve, but he was still a demon who slept with a pure soul . . . the angel would have every right to be upset with him.

“James?” Peggy prompted. “You wish to neutralize another space?” she repeated her question, studying him.

“I will, yeah,” James swallowed, “I - - uh . . . things happened last night . . .”

“You chose to love him,” she said, matter-of-fact.

He nodded, looking down at his hands, “I don’t regret it . . . but - - when he kissed me outside my room - - it felt like I was getting my soul torn out all over again.”

A smile crossed the angel’s face, as if she expected and approved of such. “And you wish to be able to continue to love him without such pain,” she said.

“I do, as long as he wants me to,” James admitted softly.

Nodding, she straightened. “And why did you decide to love him?” Her voice sounded gently curious.

“Because that’s what he needed from me . . . and - - and I was tired of hiding . . . I wanted to be a _real_ part of his life,” James looked up, his knee started to bounce nervously.

“So, you wish to be with him. You are no longer interested in your ritual?” She stood gracefully and walked over to him, squatting down to come to eye level.

“I’ve known since he was eight years old that I’d never be able to perform the ritual on him,” James sighed.

“And yet you still worked towards this, finding the information and commissioning the pendant . . .”

Fingers moving to grip the leather around his neck, James nodded once, “I told you, I’m taking Pierce down. I can’t do it without some . . . help.”

“Yes,” Peggy nodded, not touching the pendant though her hand hung near. Finally, she withdrew her hand. “You need great strength and energy to take on such a battle.”

“I don’t know if I’ll actually be able to do it . . . but I’m stronger now - - with the amulet. With Steve. Pierce can’t be allowed to roam this earth any longer, he’s aiming to start a war with the angels.”

“If you neutralize a room in order to be with Steve, would that not mean you cannot be with him outside of that room?” Peggy asked calmly, still squatting in front of him.

Looking directly at the angel, James shook his head, “I don’t know what else to do. His pure energy is too much for me.”

She nodded. “He is attuned with you now that you have been inside of him, James,” she stood. “I can do nothing to neutralize his energy or yours outside of this house.”

“So, it won’t hurt when he touches me?” James asked, eyes shining slightly with hopefulness. He looked up at the angel, eyes not leaving her face.

“You both belong to one another. There will be only the pain your cause each other physically and emotionally as you live with one another. Your energy will not clash again unless you turn away from one another’s love.” Peggy walked back over to her chair and touched the back of it. She seemed a bit restless.

James took a deep breath and nodded, seeming satisfied with the answer. Looking over at her, the demon asked, “you okay? Seem a little . . . antsy?”

“I am an angel of death. I have already taken the soul I was sent for. I have remained for Sharon’s sake, as I told her where her true parentage lies last night. But I cannot stay longer. She no longer needs my guidance, but she will need protection.” Peggy frowned.

“I can take her on?” James offered, rising to his feet. “My apartment has a spare room . . . I can use the protective curse on her as well. She’ll be safe from Pierce, you have my word.”

Relief rose in the brunet woman’s eyes, and a swirl of changing colors ran through the orbs before settling back to her normal tone. “If you can promise me that you will not determine that you must sacrifice her in Steve’s place.”

“No,” James shook his head, eyes softening, “I - - I won’t use her or Steve. I’ll protect them both, nothing more. What’s another century, right?” The demon laughed softly, a sad, bitter sound.

“Except to love Steve,” Peggy looked slightly amused. She nodded. “Thank you, James. You have spared me much heartache over the mortal woman. I have much I am to do and have put it off too long.” She sighed, “but a pure soul comes along so rarely, that at times we must put aside our normal tasks to care for them, must we not?”

The demon snorted and made a small noise of agreement. “She’ll be safe with me, Peggy.”

“James, Steve will need to be told who she is,” Peggy met his eyes.

“And how am I supposed to explain _that_?” James looked incredulous.

“Let Sharon help you, of course. I already told _her_ after all.” She looked amused, but suddenly tired.

James nodded and looked thoughtful.

“In the room you occupy, after I am gone, you will find a box with a pendant like yours. You must split this pendant in two equal parts. Give one part to Sharon and the other to Steve. This will neutralize their pure scents without your spells. Thus, you can save your energy for important things.” Peggy spoke calmly as ever.

The demon sagged in obvious relief, it would have been hard to perform two protective curses every day.

She noted his expression. “It will hurt to grasp and separate the parts, but once it is done, you three will be able to hide anywhere. And bring that scamp, Clint, with you. He has a part to play in the fate of your destiny.”

Nodding, the demon took in all the information.

“There will be another in Steve’s life soon. This other will aid you as well, but will imperil Steve like no other before. Watch carefully and make the correct decisions. For if you make the wrong one, nothing will save Steve.” Peggy gasped, putting a hand to her chest. “I have said too much. I must go.”

“You angels and your damn riddles,” James muttered, though his lips were pulled into a smirk.

“Not my riddles. His riddles.” She lifted her eyes then turned them directly on James. “There was a time you would have understood those same riddles.” The angel shook her head and, simply faded from view, her energy dissipating just after.

Sighing, James turned and left the empty den; he walked upstairs and into his room. Just like Peggy had said, a small wooden box sat on the bed; runes similar to the ones carved into his own amulet looked to be burned in the chestnut surface.

Inside the small protective casing sat a woven thong of pale cream leather interwoven with dark black leather. A pendant dangled, woven just like his own, but the stone proved to be a carefully slotted set, one light pink opal, the other a multicolored moonstone. The beautiful pendant lay looking alluring and almost innocent on the dark violet silk lining.

Grasping the pendant, James gasped as pain shot through his arm, all the way down to where it settled into a deep ache in his chest. Using shaky hands, his breathing coming out in agonized gasps, the demon pulled apart the two stones, the pain increasing as his skin came into contact with the smooth gems.

The leather thongs unwound from one another, revealing that they had been tied separately then re-tied together. Now, they lay separate, the pink opal interwoven in the cream leather and the moonstone in the black.

James let them both fall onto the bed; his eyes closed as he braced himself against the mattress, the ache was already dissipating, and he just focused on getting his breathing back under control.

A soft knock came to his door. From the other side, Steve’s voice called softly, “James? Are you in there?”

“Yeah,” James’ voice cracked and he had to clear if before he could continue, “come on in.”

The door opened and Steve looked in. He was still in his sleep pants. “You okay, baby?” he asked softly. “I didn’t see you down for breakfast. Can’t blame you. I’m not very hungry myself.” The blond walked over, letting the door swing shut behind him. He touched James’ arm.

“Dizzy spell,” James offered a weak smile.

Nodding, Steve helped James to sit. “Do you know if they’re heart related or neurological?” he asked softly, the medic in him taking hold.

“Uh - -” James licked his lips nervously and looked down; he should’ve known Steve would start asking questions . . . especially medical questions.

“You never went to a doctor to find out, did you?” Steve frowned.

“No?” James looked up at the blond, “they only last a few minutes . . . it’s alright.”

Biting his bottom lip, Steve sighed. “Look, dizzy spells can come from a wide range of problems, James. Anything from simple anemia to meningitis, which is very contagious and often deadly. Please, James . . . I’d feel better if you got checked out.” He stroked the brunet’s cheek with gentle fingers.

James nodded, eyes falling; he didn’t like lying to Steve but he couldn’t exactly tell him the real reason as to why he suddenly got weak. “Okay . . . after we get back to the States?”

Smiling, Steve nodded. “If you don’t have another serious spell before that, okay, we’ll wait. But if you have another one, I’m going to insist you go here in England.”

“Alright, _mom_ ,” James smirked.

Glancing at the bed, Steve tilted his head and looked curious. “Those are like your’s,” he gestured to James’ pendant. “Where did you get them? I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“Oh!” James smiled and picked up the moonstone pendant, “Peggy gave them to me . . . she asked me to give this one to you. It’s very rare . . .” the demon offered the pendant to Steve.

Smiling still, Steve nodded. “Thank you. I should go thank her.”

“She actually just left . . . had some . . . _personal_ things to get done. Sharon is going to come back with us to New York.”

The smile dropped, turning to a look of confusion. Softly, he asked, “is she your . . . uh . . . girlfriend, James?” He ran a hand through his hair.

Looking mildly shocked, the brunet shook his head wildly, “No! God, no! Steve I wouldn’t have made love to you if I was her boyfriend . . . Peggy asked me to look out for her.”

Relief suffused his features. The blond smiled almost shyly. “I guess it’s hard to believe that I could be lucky enough to have a . . . boyfriend? . . . who’s so damn pretty and sweet.”

James snorted and shook his head, pulling Steve down by his collar to crash their lips together. “You’re the pretty one, doll. Can’t keep my hands off you.”

“That makes two of us,” Steve breathed, sliding his hands to James’ waist, pushing closer to the brunet’s warmth. “I think I’m addicted.”

Looking at the pendant in Steve’s hand, James bit his lip and moved to look back up at the blond. “That pendant supposedly has _protective_ powers . . . it’d - - uh . . . mean a lot to me if you wore it all the time?”

Letting go James’ hips, Steve lifted the pendant and studied it. Smiling, he tied the thing on around his neck, the pendant dangling close to the hollow of his throat. “Did I mention that I have a guardian angel, James?”

“Oh?” James looked up at Steve, “I’ll hafta thank it for keeping you safe.”

“Him. I call him Bucky. He’s been there ever since I was born.” Steve sighed, looking sad. “But as I’ve gotten older, he seems to have gotten weaker. I’m not sure why, and I’m afraid it’s something to do with me. Maybe he’s not supposed to guard an adult, you know?” Looking around the room, Steve sighed. “I’ve only sensed him once since I’ve gotten here.”

“I’m sure he’s around . . . you know angels are very busy creatures, lot to do and so little time to do it in. Now that you’re not in a war zone . . . maybe he doesn’t feel like he needs to constantly be by your side?” It felt weird talking about himself like this . . . he’d never thought of himself of an angel, despite what Steve always said.

A smile actually came to Steve’s lips and his eyes shone with a sudden sparkle of happiness. “That’s good. I think he needs the rest. I just didn’t want to be hurting him, you know?”

“You weren’t hurtin’ him, Stevie,” James sighed, hand pulling up to touch his amulet.

“You can’t tell me that having an angel follow me into a warzone, surrounded by gunfire while trying to hold a guy together wasn’t hurting him, James. But I think that’s his job, isn’t it? I’m just glad he gets a break now.” Sighing, Steve ran a hand through his hair. “He’s the reason I left the Army.” Steve looked down at his hands.

James’ hand dropped and he looked up at Steve with wide, shocked eyes, “what? What do you mean?”

Nodding, Steve sank onto the bed, careful not to disturb the other pendant sitting there. “Yeah, I could feel that he was weak and seemed to be in pain. So, I decided not to re-up. I . . . I have a couple things I wanna do, but I’m not sure since they might throw Bucky right back in danger again, and I think he might not be up to it any more.”

“Oh, I’m sure that isn’t true. He’s still your angel, he’s gonna follow you wherever you go . . . that’s his _job_. What were you thinking about doing?” James didn’t take his eyes off Steve, studying the blond closely.

With a sigh, Steve said, “I actually was thinking on becoming a firefighter.” He winced, waiting for the confirmation that that would put his angel in more pressure than even as a medic in the Army had done.

The brunet paled, _firefighter?_ Steve being surrounded by overwhelming heat and smoke, not being able to breathe . . . _fire. So much flames, he could feel the heat on his skin, hear the screams of his family._ James shook his head, forcing himself into the present.

Touching James’ face with one hand, frowning, the other hand wrapping around the brunet’s bicep, Steve murmured, “James? Hey, baby . . . you okay?”

“Fine,” James rasped out, shaking his head again. “I’m fine . . . just - - my mind wanders sometimes . . .” the demon finally broke eye contact and let his gaze fall to his lap, unable to look at Steve.

“No, you’re not,” Steve countered. “You got that same look the soldiers get in the field. That thousand yard stare . . . the shallow breath . . .the pale skin. You’ve been in a fire haven’t you? It still scares you.” Steve tugged James against him, softly kissing his temple. “I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t know,” he murmured.

“It wasn’t me . . .” James murmured quietly, “my . . . my family - -” the demon cut himself off, snapping his jaw shut with a forceful click. He couldn’t do this here . . . he couldn’t think about the life he’d lost so long ago.

Cupping James’ face, Steve turned his lover’s face and kissed him gently. “I can become a paramedic, an EMT. Drive the ambulance.”

James shook his head, “no, Steve, don’t be silly. If you want to be a firefighter . . . be a firefighter. You’d probably be really good at it.”

“And traumatize you everyday, James? No way. I had other ideas, that was only one of them.” He kissed James’ cheek.

Looking at Steve with wide eyes, James whispered, “you’d - - for me?” He knew he didn’t make a lick of sense, but the blond never ceased to amaze him with his pure spirit.

“James, I know we barely know each other, but we’ve already agreed we want to try to make a go of this relationship we’ve started. Part of that is give and take. If something about fire hurts you, I can do something else. I don’t want you hurt, or leave panicking and worried waiting for me every day to come home. I can do something else with my rescue training.” He stroked James’ face. “Okay, baby?” Steve smiled.

Nodding, James offered a relieved smile, “okay.”

A soft knock on James’ door sounded, followed once more by Sharon’s voice, like earlier. “James?”

“Come in, Sharon,” James called out.

The door opened and the blonde woman looked surprised, relieved, then nervous and a bit shy. “I . . . I was hoping to find Steve,” she practically whispered. Sharon walked inside then smiled. “Oh, this feels calm.”

“Well, you found him,” James chuckled lightly.

Steve dropped his hands from James’ cheeks to his shoulders and offered a gentle smile to Sharon. “What can I do for you?”

She flushed a bit. “I . . . I wanted to talk to you about what Aunt Peggy told me . . . and . . .Joe?”

The blond man looked interested but uninformed. “Oh? What did she say?”

James straightened and looked up at Steve before looking over at Sharon. He gave the woman a reassuring nod.

She saw that movement and smiled nervously. “Aunt Peggy told me that when I was born, my mother died. I nearly died and things got confused in the labor room. I was . . . I was given to Aunt Peggy for care, but . . .” Sharon sank to a chair, shaking at the enormity of what she had only just found out, herself, “but she was the nurse on duty, not my relative.”

Steve stayed quiet, listening. He had often found himself a sounding board for distressed patients so merely waited for Sharon to come to her point.

The blond woman glanced over at James then swallowed and looked back at the tall blond man. “ was a twin, Steve . . . and I was born on July fourth in 1983.”

Slowly, Steve blinked his sapphire colored eyes. He was not stupid, or he wouldn’t have been head of his class, and the words sank in, sorting themselves into order. “Twin?”

“That’s why she wanted us to meet, Steve,” Sharon breathed, tangling her fingers together. “She was able to track down Joe and wanted to get us all back together?”

“ _My_ twin?” Steve breathed, eyes wide.

Both blonds stared at one another, breaths held, the moment stretching. Finally, the man reached over and gripped the woman by the shoulders and pulled her into an intense hug. “My twin sister?” he breathed in her ear. He had never known his mother and had just lost his father . . . and now he’d been given another family member. The normally solitary man hugged his newly revealed sister with gratitude and hope. She hugged him back.

James smiled at the sight, steel blue eyes dancing with happiness. He picked up the second pendant and ran his fingers over the pink gemstone.

“That’s why Peggy asked James to look out for you, isn’t it?” Steve chuckled a bit wetly, tears forming in his eyes. “Because she knew we . . . uh . . .” Steve suddenly flushed bright red.

Sniffing, Sharon smiled. “I think you two make a great couple. Screw what the world says. They’re bigots and racists.”

“I . . . uh - -” James cleared his throat again, standing up.

Both siblings looked at the brunet, Steve smiling and Sharon ducking her head, flushing a bit.

Stepping closer to the twins, James held out the other pendant to Sharon, “this is from Peggy. She asked that you keep it on at all times, okay?”

Nodding, Sharon took the pendant with a small sob. “She said she had to leave,” the woman whispered. She fastened the braided leather around her neck. Lifting her face to look at James, she suddenly hugged him. “Thank you, James.”

James looked slightly taken aback from the kind gesture, so unused to the gentle human contact. Slowly, he hugged her back and placed a quick kiss to her temple. Pulling back, the demon nodded, “yeah, she did. But - -” He looked at both siblings, “I have an apartment in Brooklyn.” He looked to Sharon, “you don’t have a choice, until you can get on your own two feet, you’ll be staying in my spare bedroom.”

“Choice? If you and Aunt Peggy arranged it, and I can finish my nursing classes, I’d love to live with you guys. I . . .” she looked at Steve then back to James, “ I don’t want to lose the only family I’ve just found and an old friend of the woman who raised me.”

Nodding, James looked over at Steve, “and _you_ , I’d love you have you. But if you want to stay somewhere else . . . I’d understand.”

“I’d love to live _with_ my boyfriend, if there’s enough room,” Steve smiled, lightly flushed.

James beamed, he gave both siblings a smile and said, “well, then, it’s settled.”

Steve nodded and sighed. “Sharon, we have to take care of Da’s affairs and . . .” he shook his head. He’d thought he’d be doing this alone one day; the blond had never thought that day would come so soon . . . and that he’d have three other people helping him . . . as long as he could get Clint off his lazy ass.


	9. A Dangerous Friend

James padded silently into the kitchen, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, yawning as he began the process of starting a pot of coffee. Steve would be home from his night shift in a few minutes and the demon liked to welcome his boyfriend home. They’d been lucky, the pendants Peggy had given both Steve and Sharon seemed to work great; Pierce hadn’t gotten any closer to finding the _‘missing pure girl’_ and the powerful demon did not even suspect James of anything.

“So, you decided you couldn’t wait for that ritual after all,” a deep rasp growled from the shadows by the back door. “Took me forever to find you again. You smell like . . . like your pet but the pure sweetness isn’t there anymore, on either of you.”

James sighed and turned to face Brock, “it’s not like I’ve been anywhere special. We’ve been home for three years.”

“Yeah? Last I heard you were off overseas. Never said you were coming back this quickly.” Brock slid partially from the deep shadows but remained a dark shape in the blackness, out of the main light as always. “So, you gave in and fucked him, huh?” Brock sounded mildly disappointed and very amused. “And then brought him home to your den.”

The brunet demon scoffed and crossed his arms, “we are together, yes. Been together for three years now.”

“That long, huh? Well, you held out longer than I would’ve,” Brock nodded, crossing his arms, leaning up against the wall. “He could make angels weep, he’s so damn sexy.”

“Any news on . . . _him_?” James’ voice lowered and his eyes looked around the open space.

“Yeah, actually. _He’s_ a bit peeved you haven’t shown up. He’s having trouble finding you because you don’t smell like yourself . . . too bland?” Brock shook his head. “No, that’s not right. But you don’t smell as strong, as . . . spicy . . . as you used to. Like something’s canceled your energy. I’m guessing it’s your gorgeous human.”

“Yeah,” James ran a hand through his hair and down to his neck, rubbing the skin nervously. “I don’t . . . I don’t know how I’m going to explain it to Pierce.”

Brock finally stepped out into the kitchen. He looked like he’d been well satisfied recently, kept content and busy. “My advice? Don’t go back to _him_ or he’ll smell your boy all over you. Yeah, don’t smell sweet or pure anymore, but didn’t Pierce have a problem with you taking a potential lover? Said something about it being the downfall of you or some such bullshit?”

Growling softly in frustration, James nodded, “back in the twenty’s. Found a nice girl that made me . . . happy? As soon as he found out . . . she was dead before I could do anything about it.”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean. Pierce is some kind of jealous over you for some reason. _He_ don’t want anyone sexing you. And if _he_ found out you’d finally broken free of him and settled with someone who was once so pure? _He_ would go hellfire on your ass.”

“I’m going to keep avoiding him as long as I can. I know I won’t be able to do it forever . . . but the longer I prolong the meeting . . . the stronger I become.” James looked at his fellow demon, eyes hardening.

“Well, not sure waiting eight more years’ll work, since you ain’t got that pure soul for the ritual, even if he lives to be thirty-three. But, yeah, I can start looking again?” Brock shrugged.

“You can look . . . but you’re not gonna find another compatible soul . . . not in this generation,” James sighed and shook his head.

Shaking his head, Brock leaned into the wall. “I don’t get it. You worked so hard. You only had eleven years left to wait, and you threw it all away to fuck the kid? Sounds like my kind of stupidity.”

James’ lips curled into a snarl, eyes changing to their dark pools, “I didn’t _throw away_ shit.”

“How the hell you gonna do the ritual without a pure soul, James? That boy smells demon-sexed. He’s gone down hard.” Brock frowned and shook his head. “Unless it’s the girl? She smells bland, almost invisible, but she doesn’t reek of demon seed. You gonna use her?”

“I’m not gonna use either one of them,” James growled low, looking very much like a wolf protecting his pack. “ _Nothing_ is going to happen to them.”

Looking slightly surprised, Brock shook his head. “So, you fell in love with the boy? Yeah, thought I saw that happening. Easy to lose yourself to a pure soul, isn’t it?” He shook his head. “As bad as falling for an angel.”

The stronger demon shook his head, he turned back to open the fridge and pull out some eggs. “You need to leave. You’re stinking up the place.”

“James?” Steve’s voice sounded, cautious and low from the doorway right by Brock’s darkness. “Walk quickly to the other room. Don’t look back,” the blond instructed, voice sounding worried, protective, and steady.

James shot a cold glare to Brock, steel blue eyes filled with venom.

Throwing his hands up into the air and rolling his eyes, Brock out-synced, leaving through the wall.

Turning back to grab a frying pan, and setting it on the stove, the demon turned on the burner and began to crack eggs into a bowl, mixing the protein with some milk.

Steve still seemed cautious, standing in the doorway, eyes roving the immediate vicinity. Softly he said, “it found us. I haven’t felt that since I was eighteen . . .” He stepped further in, face lined with exhaustion and now worry, his EMT coveralls slightly unzipped at the neck practically hugging his muscular frame.

“Hungry?” James called out from over his shoulder, he reached for the loaf of bread to make some toast.

“Yes . . .” Steve answered absently, eyes still scanning as if he could see the darkness he’d felt only moments ago, a darkness he’d only ever felt from his childhood closet. “James, why didn’t you listen to me when I told you to leave?” His voice sounded worried, his blue eyes troubled.

James sighed, turning off the burner and moving to look directly at his boyfriend, “I’m sorry?” The demon tried to look apologetic.

“When I came in, there was a . . . dark energy . . . coming closer to you. I’ve felt it before. When I was a kid.” Steve stopped only a few steps into the kitchen, looking around intently once more. “I could feel it, James, and it was getting closer to you.”

“I can handle myself, Steve,” James didn’t like to be thought of as weak, “but I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.”

“I guess Bucky really is gone,” Steve murmured, sadness in his voice. He blinked a couple of times then turned his gaze on his beautiful boyfriend. “I know you can take care of yourself, James, but you didn’t seem to feel it. I don’t want you hurt.” Steve finished walking over to the brunet.

Taking a deep breath, James’ eyes softened as Steve talked about _Bucky_ ; the brunet still went out with Steve on some days, days when the demon felt antsy . . . but for whatever reason the blond never seemed to feel James’ energy anymore. Looking up at his lover, the demon nodded, “I really didn’t feel anything . . . next time I’ll make sure to listen to you, okay?”

Reaching out a hand to stroke James’ cheek, Steve gave him a beautiful smile. “Thanks. It’s just, until today, the only thing that seemed to chase it away was my Bucky. You know? And Bucky hasn’t come back since I’ve found you.”

“I’m sure he’s still watching over you, Steve, guardian angels don’t leave their charges,” James answered honestly.

Laughing softly, Steve slid both hands to James’ hips and dragged him flush against the large blond’s body. “Maybe he thinks you’re strong enough to protect me?” he murmured and dipped his mouth to cover his lover’s lips.

James’ arms moved to wrap themselves around Steve’s neck, moaning into the blond’s mouth. “Damn right, I ain’t gonna let no monster take you away from me,” the demon said, biting his lover’s lip.

Steve chuckled, “double negative, James, means you’re gonna.” But the blond stepped back from his lover with a laugh. “Seen the news? It’s all over the air waves . . .” Steve began to remove his shoes to line them up by the kitchen door.

The brunet shook his head, “got in late last night, just woke up myself . . . what’s going on?”

“Well, there’s talk about legalizing same sex marriages in Vermont. They’re gonna be voting on it.” Steve looked up, watching James with intent eyes.

“No shit,” James mused with a small smile, “about damn time.” The demon turned back to begin making Steve’s breakfast again, turning on the burner and putting two pieces of bread in the toaster.

In his socks, Steve padded over to James, unzipping his coveralls to the waist but leaving them on his arms. He slipped his hands to his boyfriend’s hips and nuzzled his neck. “Well, if they pass that law . . . think you might . . . maybe be interested in . . . moving?” He kissed the back of James’ neck lightly.

James froze, eyes going wide, “you mean . . . get married? Like - - in a church?”

Steve lifted his head and turned James around to face him. “Yeah, like get married in whatever building you want.” He offered a smile to the brunet. “I’d make an honest man outta you, baby.”

The demon looked up at Steve, eyes still wide, and he wondered if a marriage still counted for a demon? Would they need a priest? James literally couldn’t step foot into a house of God, and he _knew_ Steve would prefer to get married in a church, considering the blond still went twice a week with Sharon . . . James always politely declining their invitation.

Steve slid his hands down James’ arms to grasp those clever, sensitive hands. “James, baby, think about it, okay? We’re not sure if they’ll even pass that law. But . . . well, I just want you to know. I,” the blond took a slow, steady breath and smiled, “I’d marry you in a heartbeat if you just say the word. I love you.”

James swallowed and nodded, “I love you, too, doll. I - - I’ll think about it, okay?” He turned back to tend to the eggs, making sure they weren’t burning. “How . . . how was your day? Did Sam have any interesting stories from the past today?”

“Yeah, he’s begun researching the history of Brooklyn. Had a bunch of information on some of the old buildings, family farms, wealthy family estates, that kind of thing. He was pretty fascinated about a family named Barnes that lived in the wealthier part of the burrough.” Steve smiled and hugged James from behind.

James dropped the spatula, the tool falling and clattering on the tiled floor.

“Oh! Sorry!” Steve let go and retrieved the cooking utensil. “Didn’t mean to knock you. I should let you . . . James? You okay?” he frowned, taking the brunet’s arm and steadying him. “Another dizzy spell?”

“I gotta go,” James pulled out of Steve’s grasp and bolted into the bedroom that they shared, rushing over to the closet and grabbing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Hastily, he stripped off his sweats and began to pull on the clean clothes.

Truly worried by the strange reaction, Steve pulled the pan from the stove and turned the burner off. He turned and headed for the bedroom. Standing in the doorway, Steve watched James’ frantic movements, frowning softly. “James . . . baby . . . what’s wrong?”

Pulling the shirt over his head, James pulled on his shoes, looking truly upset, his skin pale, and he mumbled incoherently under his breath.

Shaking his head, Steve stepped into their room and placed a gentle hand on the brunet’s arm. “James, baby, look at me. What’s wrong?”

“I gotta go . . .” James muttered again as he moved to walk out of the bedroom.

“Go where? Let me drive you,” Steve offered.

“No,” James snapped, his voice dropping to a low growl.

Eyes widening, the blond pulled his hand back and watched, cautiously. “Okay . . .” he said slowly. “But . . . I don’t want you getting in an accident, baby. Be careful? Please?” Steve stood there, feeling confused and helpless.

Grabbing his jacket that hung by the door and his keys, James wrenched open the door and let it slam shut behind him.

“I love you,” Steve called softly behind his lover.

**********

James’ fist pounded hard on the door of Sam’s small home. Loud enough to wake the man if he slept after his long shift.

The door opened and Steve’s dark-skinned, attractive EMT partner stood there, looking sleepy and confused. “Yeah? What?”

Pushing past the tired human, not waiting for an invitation into the home, James turned to look at the man, eyes narrowed.

“What the hell? Just come on in, man. No, I insist,” the sleepy medic grumbled, turning around to follow his unexpected guest. He stopped close to the doorway of his living room, his home neat except the large amount of historical research scattered across his coffee table and piled up on two end tables.

“You are digging into shit you shouldn’t be,” James snarled, voice dripping with anger.

“What the hell?” Sam shook his head. “What’s that supposed to mean? And who got your panties in a wad?”

Looking down at the research Sam had accumulated so far, James picked up a piece of paper, the document worn with the years that had passed. The demon knew the document . . . it was the deed to the home his family had owned.

“Hey, I found someone cool, man,” Sam tried to deflect James’ puzzling anger. “Here, let me show you.” Sam stepped closer and pulled out an old portrait of a large family. “Look at that, man,” Sam smiled and offered the duplication print. “See? That’s the Barnes family. And that one there? James, he could be your twin if the painter’s any good.” Sam beamed hopefully, praying the bit of history would calm the odd behavior of his partner’s boyfriend.

James looked down at the picture; he hadn’t seen his family for almost two-hundred years. He’d long forgotten the details of his mother’s face, the sounds of his younger siblings laughter, or the way his father sounded when he clapped James on the shoulder and said _‘I’m proud of you, Son.’_ Looking at the picture brought a flood of memories he’d tried to push away for years.

“You’re from Brooklyn, right? Your family settled here ages ago? Maybe these are relatives from way back. You never talk about your roots. Maybe this can be a start?” Sam gestured to the paper James held. “That document’s the deed to their home, actually.”

The demon turned to look at Sam, his lips pulled into a vicious snarl. “You have no idea what you’re digging into. Stop it, _now_.”

Startled, and a tad afraid of Steve’s odd boyfriend, Sam frowned. “What the hell?” He shook his head. “You’re getting a lot bent outta shape over a little thing, James. It’s historical research.” He took the deed from the other man and carefully tucked it away. “It’s not like I’m trying to dig up some ancient satanic spell or something.”

“A little thing?” James growled, “you get to the part where the entire family was burned alive in their own home? The man who did it, never caught . . . they could never figure out the real cause of the fire.”

“Yeah? No, that’s not listed, James. Not in what I’ve found.” He frowned, his features softening in worry and sympathy. “So, they really are your ancestors? I’m sorry they died so horribly. The entire family?” His eyes reflected sadness for the unknown strangers.

James’ eyes filled with black; he growled low and menacing, “you _will_ stop all research you are doing on the Barnes family. You _will_ destroy all evidence you have found so far. And you _will not_ speak any of this to Steve.”

Sam frowned, shuddering, the total soulless black of James’ eyes tugging at the primal terror of all beings. But, the man shook his head and collected the book of loose documents against himself, as if in a near trance. “Yeah? No. I won’t continue. I won’t show them to Steve.” He took a deep breath, trembling, but meeting that cold stare, wondering if Steve had any clue what his boyfriend really was. Sam had an idea, through his research he’d found more than enough evidence to convince him of the existence of demons and angels. And James was not acting like an angel. “But I won’t destroy these. I’ll lock them away, but I won’t destroy them. James,” he tacked on at the end.

Jaw ticking in agitation, James snarled.

Before James could do more than make that threatening noise, Sam added, softly, “if you attack me, Steve will figure it out. I’m not sure what the hell you want with him. He’s a good man. But you’re hiding yourself. So think about it, James. What is this book really worth to you? I can lock it in my safe and not pull it out, leave it to my descendants for after Steve is long dead. So why does it need to be destroyed? Can it be held against you?”

“You have no _idea_ what you are dealing with . . . powers beyond _both_ of us,” James’s fingers twitched by his sides, an overall angry energy encompassing the normally neutral and warm home.

Sam shook his head. “I have no powers, James. But I know that it’s best not to give in to demons and their demands.” He laid the word out there like a gauntlet. “So, if you got some mad designs on my boy, I will find a way to take you down. But if you’re here peaceably? Yeah, you can walk out that door and know I won’t break my word . . . unless you threaten or harm Steve.” Sam’s eyes rolled in fear, but he pushed it down gamely.

The whole room began to shake, “I would _never_ hurt Steve. You are putting _all_ of us in danger with your snooping. You humans never know when to stop.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You’re speaking in riddles. If you just explain why this historical research into a long dead family is so taboo, I could make a better informed decision.”

“There is only one decision to make. If you wish to keep living, you’ll forget about it . . . I won’t force you to not tell Steve . . . just know, if I lose Steve because of _you_ , I will come back with more than just a warning.” The demon’s voice was harsh and threatening.

“James,” Sam’s voice shook with determination, firm, almost commanding. “I don’t intend to tell Steve, so stop worrying about that. I’ll stop telling him any of my research if you can promise that by doing so, he’ll be safe.” Yeah, Sam was making a deal with a fucking demon. “But, you gotta calm down and think about this from my point, okay? I’m looking up the names of people who lived here, what they did for a living, and how they died. I’m not doing any cult research or anything. So how come stumbling across one of many families from the region would make you think I’m setting the world up for hellfire, or whatever shit you think?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing for the last twenty-five fucking years?!” James shouted, some of the pictures on Sam’s walls falling with the force of the energy radiating off of the demon. “ _I’ve_ been keeping him safe!”

Sam sank onto the couch, still watching James, eyes nearly black in fear himself. “Are you a demon, James?”

“I sure as hell ain’t an angel,” James spat and then said, “lock it up. Keep it hidden.”

“Is someone else looking for this stuff? Is that why you’re so worried?” Sam whispered as a new thought came to him. Perhaps something in his research, not the names and dates themselves, but something included was being hunted by someone dangerous.

“Goodbye, Sam,” James snapped and turned to stride out of the home.

“You ain’t doing Seve any favors by excluding me from helping, man!” he called after James. “I got a few . . . friends . . .”

Hand freezing over the doorknob, James looked back at the human, he forced his eyes to fade back to normal, the shaking stopping.

“Come on back in here, sit down, and let’s talk? I want to help Steve. He’s my best friend. You apparently wanna help Steve. He’s your boyfriend. Maybe together we can figure out a way to do that?” Sam gestured to the chair nearby with his chin, book of research still held firmly against his muscular chest.

James moved back into the room but didn’t sit down, he continued to look down at the human, his pale blue eyes cold and calculating.

“Right,” Sam said, relaxing slightly. “Look, I don’t know why demons come around or anything. I don’t know how you got the way you are, but you seem to be a pretty nice guy. So, we both wanna help Steve. You’re afraid of something happening. Please, tell me why you think this book will cause harm to Steve. There aren’t any runes or shit in here. Just names and dates and pictures.” Sam looked up at James. “And I’ll be the first to put it away, I promise. But, if I know, maybe I can help. I’ve got a lot of information in my back room, and some friends that always are researching stuff. I might be able to help you stop whatever it is you’re trying to stop.”

James shook his head, running his fingers through his hair, “demons aren’t born. They’re _made_. Another demon has to take the soul of the human.”

“So, kinda like a twisted vampire myth thing.” Sam nodded. “And some asshole demon turned you. Is that guy still out there? Looking to turn anything you care about?” Sam tilted his head slightly.

“Not turn. Kill. Use their soul to gain power.” James answered.

“And this bastard’s after Steve now,” Sam said softly.

“No, he doesn’t know that Steve is - - well, that Steve is pure. He’s technically after Sharon. It’s why I have both of them living with me.” James eyes wandered the room, as if he checked to make sure Pierce wasn’t listening in.

“Okay, so we’re trying to protect that fine lady, too,” Sam said, absently letting out his interest in the pretty blond. “So, something about your family would alert this guy that Sharon is around? Are they . . . uh . . . related somehow?” He looked dubious about the idea that Steve should be sleeping with his ancestor.

“No, I am in no way related to Steve or Sharon. What is so dangerous about this research is that if it gets out . . . if I’m discovered . . . people will start asking questions. Questions lead to being visited by a rather angry, powerful demon that wants to send you straight to hell.”

“Okay, so just telling them that you happen to resemble your great-uncle Bucky or something isn’t good enough?” Sam asked without realizing the significance of the random name he chose.

James quirked a brow, “yeah, like everyone will believe that. And how do you know that name? Steve ever talk about Bucky?”

“What? Bucky?” Sam rolled his eyes. “Forget it. It was a stupid random name.” He shook his head. “I’ve always had dreams about a, well, not sure but it had glossy black wings and seemed more terrifyingly beautiful than I can describe. It was hovering over me and suddenly something bright white called out _‘not him, Bucky,’_ and the black winged guy backs up.” Sam stood, heading to a wall safe. “So, in order to protect your identity, I lock up and stop looking into anything Barnes, right? Any other families off limits?”

“There is no way for me to know for sure,” James sighed, shaking his head.

Sam sighed and turned to James. “So, basically any research I do? Any family, from anywhere, could endanger you guys? So, why isn’t every genealogist and historian being threatened? Why is it only the UFO guys and me?” He offered a small smile in an attempt to lighten the air.

“Because _you_ are endangering a man I love,” James answered.

“We already established that I’d stop looking up the Barnes family. So relax, James. I just wondered if there was anything I _can_ continue looking into?” Sam asked.

Sighing, the demon looked over at the human, “you can continue to do what you’re doing now, just not _my_ history. Just tread carefully.”

“Well, I certainly don’t wanna piss off a demon or hurt my friends. Thanks for the head’s up. If I come across Barnes stuff, I’ll just lock it away with the rest, that okay? If I start hoarding the stuff so others don’t find it, too?”

“That’s fine,” James nodded, he started walking to the front door again.

“So, glad we had this talk. Come by anytime,” Sam called from his place by the safe. “But next time, try to bring a little patience. Not all humans are out to wreck our world, you know.”

“No, leave that job to us demons,” James said quietly and opened the door.

“Hey,” Sam shrugged, “we all got a job to do, right?” He turned to unlock the safe and put the book inside then sort through the rest of his stuff to remove and hide away any other Barnes connected items. All the while, he couldn’t help but worry that his friend was tangled up with a demon.


	10. On the Run

James entered the apartment hours after he’d stormed off, he set his keys by the door and hung up his jacket. “Steve?” The brunet called, stepping further into the home.

Something about the place felt . . . off. Like a swirl of smoke or a whiff of darkness had come through. He couldn’t scent Sharon or Steve, even muted they did have a particular human scent which seemed to have faded over the hours.

Heart beating heavily in his chest, James looked in every room; his fear increasing with each empty space. The dark energy felt strongest in Steve and James’s room. The demon looked around the bedroom, maybe Brock had come back?

But it didn’t feel like the sex demon. It felt . . . blacker, deeper, and so familiar.

“Pierce,” James breathed out, whirling around to look at the doorway. There was no way the powerful demon had found Steve and Sharon, their amulets dulled their scents, unless he came looking for James and stumbled upon the others. He may have done something to them because they were living with James, even if they may not have known the significance of the man hiding in their midst.

A knock on the front picture window clattered throughout the house.

James ran to the noise, the stocky blond form of Clint Barton stood there, tapping the window, looking troubled. He kept glancing to the rarely used front door, most everyone except Clint used the back door situated off the garage.

Opening the front door, James poked his head out, “Clint? What are you doing here?”

“Well, I came to ask if Steve wanted to go out and play, but the entire dead cat vibe is putting me off.” The man gestured to a decapitated black cat on the third step down.

James looked down at the cat and gasped, “you need to go home, Clint. Now.” The demon stepped out and shut the door, using the hidden spare key to lock it behind him.

“Okay,” he drawled, eyes narrowing. The stocky blond gave one more shuddering glance to the body and turned to hurry back to his car, one arm wrapping around his gut.

The demon out-synced and hurried to Pierce’s office. He was livid by the time he reached the building, his fear for Sharon and Steve’s lives nearly blinding him.

As James came off the elevator, Pierce didn’t even bother to look up from the columns of figures on his paperwork. “At last, the prodigal son returns,” he said, voice slightly amused.

“Why the fuck were you in my apartment?” James growled, eyes already black and body vibrating with furious energy.

“Was I?” Pierce looked up, a smile playing over his handsome features.

“Don’t play dumb, Pierce, it doesn’t suit you,” the brunet stepped further into the space.

“Yet you treat me as if I am dumb, as you say, James,” Pierce stood slowly. “You have stayed away from me for far too long, James. You have neglected your duties. I merely went to check on your well being.” Smiling like a shark scenting bait, the demon circled around his desk and leaned against the surface. “And do you now what I found when I got there?”

James’ jaw ticked, his eyes narrowed and his hands clenched into fists. He didn’t say anything; if by some miracle the other demon hadn’t found Steve or Sharon, that the twins had just happened to be out . . .

“I found that there are two other scents, human scents, in your apartment now. Have you taken a pair of lovers? You know that will not be good for you.” Pierce continued to smile, but his eyes were watchful, predatory, and angry.

“Had a fun night last night,” James offered with a tense tone, “meaningless, I assure you. But I do need to let off some steam every once in awhile.”

“You are forbidden to spread your seed among humans, James!” Pierce shouted, the room, shaking as his hand came down hard on the desk.

“Am I?” James mused nonchalantly, “say that in some _rulebook_ or something? Must’ve missed my copy in the mail. You know how inefficient these postal services are.”

Suddenly, in less than a blink, Pierce had James around the throat, but he screamed and let go, eyes widening as his hand blistered. “What?” He glared at the pendant and growled low and deep. “You wouldn’t dare . . . who gave that bauble to you?”

James quirked a brow; looking down, the demon played with the stone, “oh? This? Some friend. Doubt you know them.” The brunet swallowed down his fear.

“You wish to play? Fine, I will meet that challenge. When you get home you will find more than a dead feline on your doorstep. You will be far too busy to challenge me, boy,” Pierce snarled and turned away, striding angrily to a cabinet, heels striking the floor hard enough to draw small sparks from the metal on his shoes. He reached into the cabinet and pulled out a very thick, very dark red book bound in what could have been pale leather but had to odor of human flesh.

Lurching forward, James growled and reached for the book, the room shaking with his anger and fear.

“By all means, aid me in punishing you. You wish to touch this book? Go right ahead,” Pierce growled, smile playing coldly about his lips. “I can scent down any human and you would be enabling me to find them faster.”

Thinking quick, unsure of the consequences of his actions, the brunet ran full-bodily into the older demon.

As he unexpectedly went down, Pierce lost his grip on the skin-bound tome and it skidded across the floor with a sickening ripping sound. The demon ignored it and turned to grasp James by the arms. “You bastard! Just one night of fun, eh? Didn’t mean anything?” Pierce grinned widely. “You have told me all I need to know. Get out and enjoy the fact that I don’t damn you to the pit for your disobedience . . . your insolence.” The older demon squeezed James’ left arm hard, staring into the younger being’s eyes, squeezing as if he meant to crush the very bones in his body.

James let out a pained scream and a powerful burst of energy pulsed from his body, sending the older demon staggering back. Gripping his throbbing arm, the brunet turned to run out of the space.

“The next time we meet, you will be begging for mercy!” Pierce screamed after him, malice and hate darkening his voice to a rumble from hell.

Running out of the building, James could already feel his left arm bruising, agony lacing the limb; no doubt some of the bones had broken. He didn’t stop running; pulling out his phone, the demon dialed Steve’s number and held it to his ear, praying that the blond would pick up.

“Hello, this is Steve,” answered the calm, friendly voice of his lover.

“Steve!” James shouted, “where are you?”

Sounding surprised, Steve asked, “James? Are you okay?”

“Answer the damn question!” James snapped, pushing past people in the busy streets.

“Church. It’s Wednesday. Sharon and I always go to church . . .” he drew a breath, “what’s wrong, baby? You need me to come find you? Are you hurt?” Steve had no idea where his boyfriend had gone to in such a hurry earlier, or why he’d been so sick seeming, but the blond had been worried for the brunet the entire day.

“Wanna go to Vermont? Let’s go,” James turned down a street, in the direction of the church Steve and Sharon visited, his pale blue eyes constantly searching the space around him, making sure he wasn’t be followed.

“Now?” Steve was stunned. “Okay . . . uh . . . how long are we going for?”

“Right now,” James bumped into a stranger, causing a jolt of pain in his arm, making him hiss, “indefinitely. I have money saved up. We’ll be fine.”

Something was really wrong. Steve could not just hear it in the other man’s voice, he could feel it throughout his body. “Okay. Let me get Sharon and we can meet at the house to pack up? Maybe discuss this a bit?”

“No!” James snipped, “No! Don’t go home. I’m three blocks away from the church. Stay inside until I get there.”

The next words were muffled as Steve put his hand loosely over the microphone, “no, Father, everything is okay, I think. Thank you.” Steve uncovered his mouthpiece. “Okay, we’ll wait in the vestibule, right inside the doors.”

“Do not leave until I call you again, okay?” James ordered, his voice commanding and frantic.

“Okay. We’ll stay. James . . .” Steve paused then breathed out, “whatever it is, we’ll work it out, okay? Just be safe and come soon.”

James hung up the call and quickly dialed Natasha’s number.

“Yes?” the redhead’s voice sounded calm over the line.

“I need a car. Untraceable. I need it in the next ten minutes.” James rushed out, left arm cradled against his chest.

“Bring my soul and you will have it by the time you arrive,” she ordered crisply.

“I brought your damn soul to New York, Natasha. I don’t have - -” James fought the frustrated whine that bubbled in his throat.

“Bring him with you into hiding and the car will be at the church,” she clarified, as if she knew exactly what James was doing, where he was going.

“Fine.” James ended the call, trusting the fallen angel to keep her word. Just as the demon turned on the street that the church was on, he froze at the sight of the stocky blond he’d been required to bring.

Clint stood there, looking up at the church windows as if they fascinated him, his arm still wrapped around his gut. A sleek silver rolls royce pulled up to the curb just as James go to the front of the church. Clint turned surprised eyes on the advancing demon.

“Get in,” James ordered Clint, gesturing to the vehicle.

Without questioning the man he’d known for three years, Clint climbed into the back seat.

Calling Steve, James let his boyfriend know he was outside.

The church door opened and Steve, holding Sharon’s wrist, ran down to join James and Clint in the car. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t protest or balk. He merely got situated next to his boyfriend and Clint, letting Sharon take the front seat. The car pulled away smoothly from the curb and began to follow the non-toll roads north.

After several long moments, Steve slid his hand over James’ and asked softly. “What’s wrong? Is it gambling? Drugs? What?” His voice sounded calm and gentle.

As Steve’s hand brushed over his bruised flesh, the demon hissed and pulled the damaged limb from the blond’s touch.

Blinking in shock, Steve turned in his seat belt. “James! You’re hurt!”

“‘M fine,” James muttered, his body trembled and he looked out the window nervously. He needed to get Steve and Sharon out of the city . . . further away from Pierce.

“You are injured, and we’re on the run. That’s _not_ fine, James. What’s happened? Who’s after you? Why’d they hurt you?” Steve reached over to ease James’ shirt off his arm, wincing and stopping before he’d barely begun. “That’ll need to be cut off so I can tend you,” he whispered.

Grumbling in near annoyance and frustration, the demon simply ripped the sleeve one-handed.

Blue eyes opening at the uncommon display of strength, Steve began to tend the injury as best he could, but they didn’t have the supplies to deal with a break. He shook his head. “You need a hospital, James. This is broken.”

“No,” James shook his head, “what we need is to get out of the city. No hospitals. No records.”

“No records?” Steve looked confused by the odd statement. “Okay, at least let me get some supplies to tend this? At a pharmacy?”

Finally turning to look at Steve, James shook his head, “once we get to our destination. Not before.”

Horror laced Steve’s voice as he whispered, “James, it’s a good seven hours to Vermont. You’re suffering.” He stroked his boyfriend’s cheek gently. “Can we get supplies once we leave the ten mile radius around the city at least?”

“We can stop when we get out of New York, that’s the earliest,” James tone left no room for argument.

“Which will be Vermont,” Steve gritted his teeth. “So, unless we go east instead of north, you’ll be in pain, with your bones unset, for hours.”

“We are not stopping in New York, Steve! And that’s final. Now, drop it,” James snapped, steel blue eyes hardening.

The blond nodded once and looked at the wounded limb. He unbuckled his seatbelt and began to take off his own belt. After a moment, he ducked down in the car to search under the seat in front of them, pulling out the first aid kit and a tire-iron. “Clint, give me your belt,” he ordered calmly.

The other blond looked surprised but complied, handing over his favorite belt without complaint.

Working steadily, rooting through the wholly inadequate first aid kit, Steve found some pain and fever meds. He pulled those out and offered them to James.

“I don’t need medicine,” James said, eyes flicking to the pills and then back out the window, eyes watching the cityscape pass by him.

Nodding wordlessly, Steve suddenly grabbed and yanked James’ arm, setting the bones before the injured man knew what was happening, making the demon yelp in pain. He then lined the arm up on the heavy tire iron and wrapped it shoulder to wrist in all the gauze he could find. He ended with using Clint’s wonderfully flexible belt to secure the gauze over the arm then his own to secure the arm to James’ body, pulling his belt tight. “That should hold if you don’t wiggle too much, baby,” he cooed softly. “Sure you don’t want meds?”

“They won’t work,” James supplied mindlessly, returning his gaze out the window, his eyes constantly searching, looking for something.

Nodding, not protesting the odd statement, Steve asked, “what happened, James? Who’s after us and why? Tell me, Baby, I won’t judge. Is it drugs? Gambling? What?”

“Employer. Pissed him off. Guy’s dangerous.” James looked over at Steve; his arm throbbed dully and he just wanted to get out of New York.

“You work for the mafia or something?” Steve countered softly, eyes worried.

“Something like that,” James muttered.

“Okay,” Steve was true to his word and didn’t seem to judge his lover. Instead, he carefully reached across his boyfriend to grasp his right hand and hold it on James’ lap. “We’ll work this out, Baby. I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Stevie,” James whispered, eyes finally softening to a worried expression.

Turning surprised blue eyes on James, Steve shook his head. “But we _will_ work this out, James. I have no intention of leaving you in your greatest need. Together, we’ll figure something out.”

So quietly, James was unsure if Steve would be able to hear him, he mumbled, “to the end of the line.”

Steve smiled. “Yeah, the end of the line.” He paused then said, “my Bucky said that to me once. Did I ever tell you that there was one time he spoke to me?” Steve carefully caressed James’ right palm with his thumb.

Eyes falling, James shook his head. He could never be _Bucky_ , the angel that Steve saw as so good and kind. The demon knew he’d always be second to the angel Steve believed he was; and James dreaded the day that the reality of who _Bucky_ was would come crashing down on the human, shattering any and all happiness James had found in his life.

Lifting James’ right hand to his lips, Steve traced his mouth over each knuckle, softly kissing, eyes on James’ eyes. “I love you, James,” he murmured.

In a broken tone, James said, “I love you, Steve.”


	11. Self-Discovery

_The pain. The pain was excruciating; his whole body, his entire being burned hot and James couldn’t help the scream that broke past his lips. Writhing on the ground, eyes wide open, and unknowingly to him they flickered between his steel-blue and the pitch blackness of damnation. Alexander Pierce, a man he wished he’d never met . . . never helped the older man, no - - demon, that had been stranded on the side of the road, his carriage wheel broken and useless, James was beginning to think that had all been a trick . . . a set up. The demon had somehow known that the brunet would stop to help. Pierce spoke a string of words, the language unknown to James, and his whole body felt like it was on fire._

_As quick as the ritual had started, it ended, leaving James gasping for breath, his thin, white cotton shirt clung to his torso, soaked with sweat. Little did the brunet know his eyes were now completely black and he felt an odd, empty feeling in his chest . . . something was missing. Panting heavily, James’ eyes moved to look at the demon standing over him, a wicked, malicious smile gracing Pierce’s lips. “What - - what did you do to me?” James rasped, his voice breathless and wrecked._

_The strawberry-haired man with the soulless black eyes laughed mirthlessly. “Do? Why I saved you from a harsh _fall_.”_

_“Fall?” James asked, his body trembling violently, “what do you mean, a harsh fall?”_

_“You owe me for protecting you, boy, from making a mistake worse than death,” and the demon began to laugh, long and deep, and dark. He picked James up harshly, hands gripping painfully tight, and whirled him around. “Why don’t you watch and see what happens to those who defy me . . .”_

_Still weak from the ritual, James fought against the other demon’s tight grip on his forearms as he watched while his family’s home became engulfed in flames. The humid summer air filled with the sounds of agonized screams. “No!” James shouted, fighting as much as his weak body would allow, “you promised! You said you wouldn’t hurt them!” The new demon’s eyes were completely black but he had no strength to do anything; he could do absolutely nothing to save his family._

_The man behind him thrust his clothed body against James’, in a simulation of a sexual act. Grinding them together, whispering in almost a seductive purr, the redhead said, “you are mine. Anyone you try to love? Will suffer for it. Soulless demons are not allowed love. And you are for far better purpose than rutting, so forget it.” He licked the shell of James’ ear and whispered low, “the only way to give up all this glory is to find a pure soul to exchange with. A soul for a soul, my boy.”_

James woke up with a gasp, his whole body covered in a layer of cold sweat, the cool breeze from the open window causing a shiver to run down his spine. His breathing came out in harsh, ragged pants and his stomach clenched violently; a wave of nausea rushed through him. The demon looked around and forced himself to calm down; he was with Steve, the blond’s steady breathing alerting the brunet that his husband of two years still slept beside him.

They were safe. They were in the small house in Vermont that James had bought three years ago after his confrontation with Pierce. The house sat on a large property, surrounded by lush green grass and large trees; they were a few miles outside of the small town known by some as Lost Nation, their nearest neighbor was a farm almost half a mile away. The demon had figured that the town was remote enough that Pierce would have a hard time finding them; the twins still wore their pendants and James never used his powers, not wanting the powerful demon to catch wind of the brunet’s energy. James _knew_ that without practicing and using his abilities, he’d never become powerful enough to defeat Pierce . . . but Sharon, Steve, and Clint’s safety trumped his revenge.

A large, steady hand slid over to stroke James’ hip lightly, a soft caress. In the semi-dark, Steve murmured, “James? You okay, baby?”

Looking down at Steve, James released a shaky breath and nodded, “yeah . . . just a bad dream. I’m okay. Go back to sleep, doll.”

“Awake now,” Steve said softly and turned towards his lover. He nuzzled James’ left arm ending in a kiss on the slightly deformed wrist. “Wanna talk about it?” He slid a hand over James’ abdomen, fingers light and caressing.

“It was just about my family,” James murmured softly, his eyes fell, not able to look at his husband.

“I’m sorry, James,” Steve murmured again, kissing his husband’s incorrectly healed wrist once more.

Steve had been incredibly upset when he’d managed to finally get James to a hospital after their flight. It hadn’t been at the edge of New York, but several days later due to a variety of bad luck occurrences that had sent James into near hysterics. When the brunet had finally gotten checked over, the wrist and forearm had already started healing, wrong. James would ever have a slightly twisted arm and an extra lump on his wrist, a deep bone ache in winter setting in often.

The demon sighed and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, grabbing his discarded sweats from the night before, James stood and shimmied the pants over his slender hips.

The blond watched his husband dressing, eyes half lidded either by sleep or lust. He smiled softly as the brunet moved, enjoying the view of the other man. “You got plans today, Baby?”

“I have work,” James offered quietly. He worked on the Howrigan farm up the street.

Nodding, Steve stretched and sighed. “Yeah, me, too.” Steve had found work in the town of Saint Albans, half an hour away, as an EMT. His schedule, at least, was regular, unlike when they’d lived in a big city. The blond rose and headed for the closet to pull out his uniform.

“I’ll go start a pot of coffee, want some eggs this morning?” James bent down and picked up his red henley that had also been thrown to the floor.

“Whatever you want to cook, James,” Steve smiled over his shoulder softly. “Just gonna get a quick shower.”

Pulling on the shirt, James nodded and left the bedroom, padding into the small kitchen. It didn’t sound like either Sharon or Clint were up yet.

But he was wrong, because there sat Clint, staring at the back of a box of cereal as if the answers of the universe would be there. The stocky blond worked in a local garage as a mechanic when he wasn’t home sick from the long-term after effects of having his guts ripped out in the war. He mostly lived on disability and hadn’t gotten his own place; the times when his body betrayed him, Clint couldn’t take care of himself.

“Mornin’ Clint,” James said softly as he made his way to the coffee maker, happy to see that the blond mechanic had already brewed an entire pot.

Looking over, Clint nodded with a half-smile. “Yo. How goes it?”

“Fine,” James said, “how are you feeling today? I can stay home again if you need me. Jim won’t mind.”

“Ever find it odd, being a James working for a Jim?” Clint asked absently and straightened slowly, arm wrapping around his waist. “I’m good right now. Meds are working, and everything’s chugging the way it’s meant to.”

Nodding, James opened the old fridge and pulled out the eggs and grabbed the loaf of bread, “well, make sure you tell Sharon if you start feeling bad, okay?”

“Sharon’s already gone into work. She got called into an extra shift in delivery.” Clint looked back at the box. “Did you know that if you look at this picture just right, something is supposed to pop outta the design? I can’t see it . . .”

Snorting softly, James put the pan on the stove and began heating it, popping two slices of bread in the toaster. “Well, let me know if you see it?” The demon’s tone was teasing and he had a playful smirk on his lips.

With a mildly disappointed grunt, Clint put the box down and shook his head. “Been staring at it from every angle I can think of for ten minutes. I think it’s a misprint.” He scooped up a spoonful of soggy cereal and put it in his mouth without any apparent disgust for the mush. Then again, with his intestines the way they were, mush was the easiest thing for the ex-soldier to digest any more.

James cracked two eggs into the pan and buttered the toast when it had finished browning. He smeared Steve’s favorite strawberry jam on the bread and then transferred the two fried eggs onto the same plate.

“Hey, ever wonder if you’ll go back to New York someday? I mean, years from now or something?” The blond glanced over at the brunet.

“I like it here,” James said; he poured his husband a glass of orange juice and a mug of coffee. He set the meal down on the breakfast bar, in front of the stool he knew Steve would sit at.

“You two, I swear. I’d think you guys were still in the honeymoon phase if you hadn’t been a couple for what, six years?” Clint grinned. “How come you feed us better than you feed yourself, James?”

James shrugged, putting the eggs and orange juice back in the fridge, “never been much of an eater. Never all that hungry, I suppose.”

“I think you don’t have a sense of taste,” Clint countered as he ate another spoon of milky mush. “I kinda wish I didn’t. This tastes crappy, but I don’t wanna chance it.”

The brunet smiled softly at the ex-soldier and beamed brighter when he saw Steve walk into the main area.

“Hey, Clint. Hey, Baby,” Steve smiled at the two men. He walked over and kissed James on the lips then sank onto the stool. “Looks and smells great, James. Thanks.” The blond shot his husband another smile.

“Eh, just something I whipped up,” James laughed and kissed Steve on the cheek on his way back into the bedroom, “gonna go get dressed. Supposed to help Jim build that fence today, he’s expecting me soon.”

“Right, okay,” Steve called. He turned to Clint, “Sharon down yet?” He ate as Clint told him the news about Sharon’s extra shift then asked the taller blond if he could see the pattern.

“Nah, red-green color blind,” Steve answered. “But if you let your eyes unfocus, that’s supposed to work.”

“Unfocus?” Clint huffed and looked at the box for a bit before exclaiming, “Whoa! It’s a unicorn!”

James came out of the bedroom dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt; he grabbed his keys from the bowl in the hall.

“Unicorn, James,” Clint called out happily, finishing his bowl of mush. Despite his almost childlike joy in most things, Clint was far from stupid.

“Yeah?” James answered with a smile, he grabbed his baseball cap and put it on. “I’ll hafta look at it later.”

“You gonna take lunch or bum off Jim?” Clint asked with a smirk.

“Darla makes killer sandwiches,” James answered with a laugh.

Steve turned and gestured for his husband to come closer. Once the brunet stood within touching range, Steve reached out and slipped his fingers in the other man’s pockets and tugged him over, planting a kiss on James’ cloth-covered belly. “Stay safe, come home to me, Baby,” Steve smiled up at him. “I love you, James.”

“Love you, too, doll,” James smiled and kissed Steve’s lips, “should be home before nightfall.”

“And I love you all,” Clint snickered, standing up and going to wash his dishes in the sink.

Steve balled a napkin and tossed it at his friend with a chuckle.

James pulled away with a laugh and turned to walk out of the home, letting the front door close softly behind him.

The brunet demon stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked down the dirt road, he tried not to think of his nightmare, of the night when he’d lost everything. He stopped mid step when he felt an all too familiar dark, lustful energy close by. Looking around, the demon’s eyes narrowed and he called out in a harsh whisper, “Brock?”

From the trees, in the deeper shadows against the rising dawn, the black-eyes being shifted, alerting James that he had heard the acknowledgement. “Yeah. Took me forever to find you again. If it wasn’t for the scent of that soldier, I would have overlooked your place.” Clint was the only one in the household not protected with an amulet; it hadn’t seemed necessary.

“What are you doing here?” James seethed, his eyes narrowing in a cold glare.

Sighing, the demon who had been James’ only friend for over a hundred fifty years shook his head. “Every time you see me, you get hostile.” His deep voice came out as a dark rasp. “ _He’s_ still looking, even overseas now.”

“Because you bring _unwanted_ attention,” James growled and then sighed, hand running through his short brown hair. “Overseas? Shit . . . I thought - - I don’t know? I thought he would give up eventually . . .”

Shaking his head, Brock barked a mirthless laugh. “Give up on _you_? _His_ greatest prize yet? Why would _he_ do something like that?”

“Because I haven’t sworn fealty . . . and he must know by now that I never will. Without that oath . . . he doesn’t have complete control over me.”

“ _He_ never wanted control over you, James,” Brock said ominously.

“What do you mean? That’s all he ever wants,” James’ brows furrowed and he looked mildly confused.

“From normal demons, yeah. From the humans he steals the souls of? Yeah. But from _you_? He gets a better reward if you’re allowed to do what you feel like, because in the end you do what you were born for. Unless you’re a human, you’ll always do it.” Brock glanced back in the shadows for a moment then looked to James once more.

“I am so fucking sick of these damn riddles!” James snapped, as he threw his hands in the air.

“What riddles? I ain’t a fuckin’ angel.” The darker demon stiffened. “What a minute . . . you didn’t know? You have been not human for almost two centuries and you have no fuckin’ idea what you really are?” He seemed stunned.

“ _No idea about what_?!” James shouted, taking a few steps closer to the demon.

“Keep your fuckin’ voice down or the locals will think you’re shouting at yourself. Remember? I’m out-synced.” Brock ran a hand through his hair, nervous energy pouring from him in waves. “Of course, I’d have thought that angel woulda told you if you hadn’t already figured it out. You were always destined to do more than rot in a grave, James. You were destined to die young.”

“Die young?” James shook his head and growled a low, frustrated sound.

“Yeah, so the angels could collect you and send you on your real destiny.” Brock lowered his voice to a bare rumbling whisper. “You were supposed to be an angel of death, James.”

James stumbled back as if the words were physical blows, he looked at the sex-demon with wide, shocked eyes. An angel? He was supposed to be an angel?

“Shit, you had no idea? That’s why _he_ wants you. You can naturally collect souls. It was wired into you from creation. For us normal lot, we have a hell of a time merely killing them. Gotta make them do themselves, you know? Not easy on a small child or nothing. But you can just take who you wish.” Brock shook his head, watching James steadily from the shadow of the treeline.

“No . . .” James whispered, shaking his head, “I - - I . . . how the fuck did _he_ find out? Is that why he targeted me?”

“The angels aren’t the only ones with ways to see people’s destinies. _He_ got you just before that fire started, James. You woulda died with your family and the angels were on their way to indoctrinate you.” Brock sighed.

“No! _He_ started that fire!” James felt like his whole world, everything he’d thought he’d known about himself, shattered around him. “ _He_ killed them!”

Looking at James from the corner of his eye as Brock glanced down the road behind him, the black-haired demon shook his head. “No, it was a knocked over kerosene lamp. I think the toddler did it . . . whatever her name was. But it was an accident.”

“An accident?” James whispered to himself, his eyes shimmering in pain and grief for the family he’d lost almost two-hundred years ago.

Brock nodded. “Hey, don’t get me wrong. If _he’d_ been anyway decent after trying to sign you on, _he_ coulda stopped the entire blaze. The angels weren’t really worried about collecting them yet. But if it helps, since _he_ didn’t touch ‘em? They all went up.”

James fell to his knees, the soft, slightly damp grass cushioning his fall. The demon’s fists gripped the ground; his suffering and grief pouring out of him in tangible waves. He let out a gasping sob, hanging his head and letting the tears fall.

Kneeling, Brock reached out then hesitated. He closed his eyes and came into sync. Opening dark brown eyes, the demon placed a well-tanned hand on James’ shoulder. “Hey, c’mon, James. I know it hurts, but the pain ain’t goin’ away ever. You need to keep sharp. I ain’t the only one that found you guys.”

The demon’s head snapped up, steel-blue eyes tear-washed, he looked at his friend, “who else knows?”

“Natasha’s on her way. Says she wants her soul now. And that friend of Steve’s that made you bolt? He’s been doing some asking around about demons and religion? Yeah, he’s coming too.” Brock kept his warm hand on James’ shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, James nodded once and slowly stood.

Lifting his hand at last, Brock said “far as I can tell _he’s_ still got no clue. He’s off in Rome right now.” The other demon rose to his feet.

James looked over at his friend, the only demon who’d given him any sort of kindness. With a small smile, James reached out and pulled Brock into a tight embrace, “why?” The demon whispered into Brock’s ear.

Brock looked stunned but accepted the hug. “Why? Why what?” he asked in a low near-growl. Since he was synced in, his voice didn’t hold the same darkness.

“Why have you always been so nice to me?” James pulled back slightly to look at his friend.

A bark of laughter erupted from Brock, and he shook his head. “You never did ask why I sold my soul.” He grinned. “I was poor. Dirt poor. And I was boozing and smokin’ and running around with women. Got a real nasty case of something I don’t wanna think about and was deadly back then. Drove a man nuts while he basically festered and rotted down there. Pierce offered me my health back. I was a dumb-ass twenty five year old and jumped at it.” He shrugged. “But my sister? She found a different way out of our poverty. She used her damn fine looks and snared herself a wealthy businessman.” Brock sighed. “Yeah, Winnie was a real catch, even with no money.”

“Wait . . .” James pulled back completely, eyes wide, “you’re . . . “

Laughing, Brock said, “yeah. Should check out your family history sometime. There’s a portrait done of the entire group back at your Christening, too. I was the one holding you . . .” Brock shrugged. “Course, I don’t know where the stuff wound up. The Rumlow side got whatever didn’t burn, after all.”

“My uncle?” James breathed and then pulled Brock back into another hug, joyous, almost pure, energy radiating off him.

The demon hugged him back. “I really wanted to see you succeed with that ritual, James,” he sighed. “But, I’ll keep looking.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” James asked, he didn’t let go of his relative, the familiar bond seeming to keep the demon grounded for now.

Brock shook his head. “And have Pierce throw me in the pit where I couldn’t keep an eye on you? Right, you were lucky _he_ let me hang around you at all. I promised _him_ I’d never tell you.”

Finally pulling back, James offered Brock a watery smile and quickly wiped at his eyes, “I know now . . . looks like it’ll be me and you for a while longer.”

Laughing once more, the sex-demon shook his head. “I plan to stick around as long as I can, James. I’ve been there since the day you were born to the day you were tricked into giving up your wings. I ain’t going nowhere.”

“Good,” James nodded and took a steadying breath.

“You know how that angel said Steve’s friend could hurt him, and you, right?” Brock sighed looking towards the treeline as if longing to get back to his normal behavior. “Well, I think he found something that might work. I don’t know what it is, but he’s hellbent on protecting his friend from going down.”

“Is he already at the house?” James asked, looking over in the direction of his home.

“Yeah. And Natasha ain’t there yet.” He frowned, looking down the road yet again.

James took off running in the direction of home, over his shoulder he called, “don’t go far! I may need your help.”

“Hell, you _always_ need my help, kiddo.” Brock out-synced and ran after him.


	12. Riddles Answered

At the sound of the knocking on the door, Steve grinned and walked over, still buttoning his uniform shirt. He knew James had grabbed his keys, so it wouldn’t be his husband coming back. The blond hoped whoever the visitor was wouldn’t take long; he was running a bit late for his shift already. Opening the door, Steve was stunned to see Sam Wilson, his friend from back in New York. “Sam?” He pulled the man into a hug.

Holding a large folder, the binder seemed to be overflowing with documents and pictures, the dark-skinned man returned the hug. In an urgent voice he asked, “your . . . _boyfriend_ around?”

“James?” Steve smiled beatifically. “Not my boyfriend anymore. Come on in, Sam. I don’t have long. I’m running late.” He stepped out of the way to allow Sam into the kitchen, where Clint sat still studying an array of cereal boxes.

Sam looked relieved, “you guys broke up?”

Looking surprised, Steve laughed softly, shaking his head. “No. About a year after we got here they legalized gay marriage. We got married at the town hall within the week with a bunch of other couples.”

“No church, huh?” Sam’s eyes narrowed and he set the binder on the counter.

Steve shook his head. “Not needed. Yeah, I know, my church isn’t happy about it, but James isn’t a Catholic anyway, so they would be angry no matter what.”

“Look, man,” Sam took a deep breath, “we gotta talk. It’s serious . . . it’s about James.”

Frowning softly, Steve tilted his head. “Sam, are they looking for him here now? We thought maybe if we left New York, he’d be safe. You should’ve seen what they did to his arm . . . never healed right.”

Shaking his head, Sam opened the binder and slid the Barnes family portrait across the wooden surface to Steve. “That’s the Barnes family.”

“Okay,” Steve picked it up and looked over the beautifully painted picture. He smiled, “looks like James is definitely a member. Got their looks.” He looked back at Sam, finger quite close to the face of James in the portrait.

Sliding another two pictures across the counter, “these are pictures from the two World Wars. That soldier there,” Sam pointed to a man who looked like James, “used two different names. A James Rhodes and a George Smith.”

Looking down at the pictures, taking in the features of James very obviously on both soldiers, Steve nodded calmly. “Definitely family resemblance.” He looked up. “No reason to change his name, but, yeah. Some people do.” He seemed totally unsurprised.

Sam shook his head and handed another picture to Steve, “this is a soldier by the name of Matthew Buchanan . . . in Vietnam. Looks like the exact same guy in all four pictures, Steve, preserves rather well, don’t you say?”

“Or he’s due to die again,” Steve looked worried, studying the man of mid-twenties in each picture.

“It’s James, Steve, he’s . . . he’s not human . . . he’s something - - something else. Something bad,” Sam’s eyes looked at his friend intently.

Sighing, Steve looked at Sam. “I think he’s Bucky.”

Clint looked over finally. “Really?” He reached for the photos, curiously.

“He’s not some angel, Steve . . . he’s evil . . .” Sam’s eyes flickered over to Clint before looking back at Steve.

Shaking his head, Steve let Clint have the pictures. “No, Sam, he’s protected me my whole life. And I mean in the war? He stopped bullets from hitting me and Clint. He’s been there for me every day of my life. I don’t know how he became corporeal, but I’m sure he’s my Bucky.”

“He’s a fucking demon, Steve!” Sam hissed, “he’s needs your soul.”

“Demon?” Steve frowned back and shook his head. “If he’s a demon, why protect me and marry me? We’ve been together for almost thirty years.”

“When you turn thirty-three he can use _your soul_ to get his own back. He’s been raising you as a sacrifice, Steve.” Sam looked worried, his brown eyes remaining steadily on Steve.

“Aren’t sacrifices supposed to be pure, Sam?” Steve questioned softly, the idea rolling around in his head.

“Yeah . . . but you’re pretty damn close to that word, Steve.” Sam offered.

Shaking his head, Steve pointed out, “no where near any more, Sam. I seduced him the night my dad died.” He sighed and headed for the fridge, and the phone that hung right by it. Picking up the receiver, he dialed quickly. “Hey, it’s Steve Rogers. Yeah. I’m sorry, an emergency came up. I know, my shift started ten minutes ago, but I won’t be in. Thanks.” Steve hung up and turned slowly to Sam. “You got me all day. Try to convince me my husband’s a demon trying to use me for a human sacrifice.”

Sam huffed and pulled out more documents, articles and book clippings about demons and sacrifices, handing them over to the tall blond; the dark-skinned EMT said, “it’s all there . . . the ritual . . . but Steve, I _know_ James is a demon. He _told_ me . . . I saw his eyes get all black. The house shook.”

“Like _Black-eyed Children_? That’s a creepy urban legend,” Clint interjected without looking up. He wrapped an arm around his gut while he started rooting through the papers that Steve ignored.

“He told you?” Steve finally sat down. “Why?” his voice sounded almost detached, barely curious, like Sam had hit on the one proof Steve hadn’t thought out there.

“Right before you guys ditched town. He was upset because I was looking into his family, said I was endangering you. He threatened my life if I didn’t stop digging around. Steve, I _saw_ his eyes change . . . he broke, like, three of my pictures because the walls shook so badly.”

Nodding, Steve said, “yeah, shaking walls and knocking down pictures is pretty much Bucky’s trademark.” He slowly reached for one of the documents.

“He’s using you, Steve, he means to take your soul to trade for his own,” Sam stated, his tone determined and steady.

“And this has to be voluntary, right? I have to willingly give my soul up.” Steve glanced through the paperwork.

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, “but there . . . even if _you’re_ not so pure anymore . . . what about Sharon? She’s your twin, Steve. He could be using you to keep close to her until she turns of age.”

“He won’t need Sharon for that,” Steve started to put the papers into a neat stack.

“You can’t honestly mean . . .” Sam’s eyes widened.

Looking up, blue eyes determined, yet sad, Steve nodded. “I love James with my entire being. I promised before man, and in my heart before God, to be with him until death parts us. If he needs me because he was made into some sort of hell fiend, I’m sure God arranged it.” The blond pushed the stack towards Sam.

The front door opened and James rushed in, his eyes still slightly red from crying, and his brown hair looked messy from running. The ballcap he’d worn must’ve flown off in his hurry to get back to Steve.

Clint looked up and smiled . . . actually smiled. He called out, “here’s our demon now.”

James strode into the kitchen, pale eyes looking only at Steve, he knew Sam had broken their arrangement . . . Steve _knew_. “Steve . . .”

His husband looked over and offered a worried frown. “James, you okay?” he asked, calmly.

The demon finally broke eye contact with his husband to look down at the documents Sam had brought; he glared at the dark-skinned man before sifting through all the papers.

“You know, Steve just neatened those up,” Clint offered nonchalantly.

Pausing at the picture of his family, James swallowed and ran his fingers down Becca’s young face; the fire had been an accident . . . Rebecca had knocked over a lamp . . . Pierce hadn’t killed them all.

“James?” Steve sounded worried. “Are you okay, baby?”

Looking up, James shook his head, his eyes shining again with unshed tears, “no, Steve, I’m not okay. You know . . . don’t you?”

“So, what Sam figured out? That you’re a demon . . . that’s true?” The blond sounded remarkably calm.

“Yes,” James answered, his voice breathless, but his eyes remained on his husband.

“You’re Bucky,” Steve countered, almost questioning. “I thought you were. You _feel_ the same. More muted since you’re corporeal, but the same.”

“I’ve been with you since birth, yes,” James nodded.

“I know,” Steve smiled faintly. “I think I even saw you then.” He took a breath then asked, “and this ritual Sam’s talking about? A human sacrifice to regain your soul. Is that true, too?”

“Yes,” James’ tone cracked and he cleared his throat, “it’s why I was in the delivery room in the first place.”

Nodding, Steve looked at Sam and Clint. “Can you leave me and my husband a bit, please . . .” he cut off and looked towards the dark corner, frowning. “Back again?”

“He’s not bad, Steve,” James muttered, finally looking down, “he’s been helping you you’re whole life.”

Both Sam and Clint left the kitchen, Sam throwing Steve a concerned look as the stocky blond led him away, saying “and let me show you the awesome view. Trees forever . . .”

“So, demons can help people, too? That’ll throw the church in a loop.” Steve sighed. “Sit down if you want? You look like you might fall down.” Steve sank onto a stool.

James sat down, he looked worried, eyes searching his husband’s face, trying to gauge if this was all just the calm before the storm. Steve had every right to be mad at him . . . to hate him.

“So, are you planning on using Sharon as your sacrifice?” Steve asked, looking him in the eye.

“No,” James shook his head, “I wasn’t planning on using either one of you. But there . . . there are other demons that want pure souls. Peggy asked me to keep Sharon safe before she left.”

Looking puzzled, Steve shook his head, blue eyes narrowing. “Now, I’m starting to get mixed up. Just a minute ago, everything sounded pretty clear cut. You chose me as an infant so you could get your soul back. Is that wrong?”

“No, I went into that delivery room for only one reason. To take your soul. Your’s and Sharon’s are the only one’s compatible to mine that we’d found in over a century.” James ran a hand through his hair, the limb shaking.

Nodding, Steve said, “and you lost track of Sharon when that nurse, Peggy, adopted her?”

“Angels are tricky . . . powerful,” James shook his head again.

“Peggy is an angel? And she let you, a demon, have me? Is that true?” Steve still sounded calm, but slightly confused.

James barked a bitter laugh, “welcome to my life, Steve. Ever since you came along . . . things haven’t made a lick of sense.”

“And did you mean what you said?” Steve looked at his hands.

“Said? When?” James tilted his head, looking slightly confused.

Twisting his golden wedding band slowly around his left ring finger, Steve said, “when we got married.”

“What? That I love you? That I don’t want to live another day without you in my life?” James asked.

Steve looked up at met his eyes directly. “Yeah. That.”

“I _do_ love you. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you,” James shook his head. “But I did.”

Shaking his head, letting out a soft laugh, Steve said, “maybe you were? Maybe that’s why an angel let a demon have a baby? Because she knew, somehow, that we’d fall in love?”

“Maybe?” James said, his eyes looking at his husband, “remember when you were real sick when you were eight?”

Nodding, Steve reached out to touch James’ left hand, fingers tracing the warm metal of the ring. “Yeah, you gave me lungs. Or healed them or something.”

“That’s when I knew I’d never be able to use you to get my soul back. I knew in that moment . . . that you were special. That you were a light on this earth . . . and I was not going to be the selfish bastard that dimmed it.” James smiled, though the expression looked pained.

“Well,” Steve sighed, twining fingers with James. “Then I won’t hurt you by telling you to use me anyway. I’d give anything, even that, for you. But if you can’t live without me, that would only hurt you.” Steve shook his head. “And I never want to hurt you.”

“Steve,” James released a quivering breath, “how is this going to work?”

“Me and you? I don’t know. You’ve stayed the same age for over a hundred years. I’ll keep aging. Eventually, I’ll die, James.” He looked sad.

James’ jaw ticked and he looked away, “I’ll be forced to watch you get old . . . get sick . . . I can’t stop time, Steve.”

“I know. Either you have me until then, or you take me in three years, quick and simple, and you can live out your life and die.” Steve sighed.

“That’s not an option, Steve. I am not taking your soul . . . nothing about that process is enjoyable, believe me. I can’t do that to you.” James looked back at Steve.

Squeezing James’ hand carefully, Steve said, “I didn’t say enjoyable. I said simple. And I guess it’s not viable anymore, since I’m not pure. I seduced you.” He shook his head. “And you won’t take Sharon, which I’m thankful for.”

The human stood and let go of the demon’s hand. He walked over, kissed James lightly on the forehead, and said, “I guess this is the worst kind of hell for you. I wish I wasn’t hurting you, James. I never meant to hurt my Bucky.”

“I ain’t an angel, Steve. I’ll never be your Bucky . . . I’ve done things . . . horrible things . . . I deserve to be punished for what I’ve done.” James looked down at his hands and sighed.

Shaking his head, Steve lifted James’ chin with one hand. “That’s not your call, James. It isn’t up to you what kind of punishment He gives out. And . . .” he smiled softly. “You’ll always be my Bucky.”

“I’ve killed countless children, Steve,” James snapped, “would _your Bucky_ do that? Take innocent children’s souls in an attempt to get his own? Murder an entire bus full of little kids because that’s what he was told to do?”

Steve sighed. “I don’t know everything, James, and I don’t know a thing about demons. I just know that I fell in love with you before I knew what love was. Good or bad, I still love you. I’m not going to stop just because I find out you have a side job of mass murder.” He shook his head. “I don’t like it, but that’s not gonna turn me away from you. For better or for worse, remember? I meant my vows, too. Still do.”

James’ eyes brimmed with tears as he looked up at Steve, “how can you not hate me? I lied to you for six years. I’ve hurt so many people . . .”

“How did you lie for six years?” Steve looked puzzled. “You never said you _weren’t_ a demon.”

“Never said I was, either, Steve,” James sighed.

Steve cupped James’ face and kissed him fiercely, letting his love show. After a moment, he broke the kiss. “I never asked, James. So, let’s just stop worrying about that lie of omission bit people get hung up on. We’ve got more important things. Like what chased us out of New York three years ago that broke your arm so badly.”

“His name is Alexander Pierce. He’s a very strong, very old demon. He’s the one that tricked me into giving up my soul back in 1842. He was going to hurt you and Sharon . . . I . . . attacked him. He’s still looking for us. For me.”

“Why does he want me and Sharon?” Steve asked, frowning.

“He mainly wants Sharon and I . . . you he thinks as just a human I fell for. He doesn’t know about your pure spirit, I kept it hidden from him. I didn’t know about Sharon until you two were fourteen.”

“But she was protected by Peggy, an angel, until Peggy gave her to you, too.” Steve shook his head. “That makes little sense, doesn’t it? That an angel would give a demon not one, but two pure souls to protect from an even badder demon?” Stroking James’ cheek softly, Steve said, “makes me wonder just what she was thinking.”

“I was supposed to be an angel, Steve,” James breathed out, the news still a shock to himself.

“Supposed to be?” Steve lifted James’ face. “What do you mean?”

“I was supposed to die in that fire. I was going to become an angel of death. But Pierce got to me first.” James looked at Steve, pain and grief in those pale eyes.

“And told you that your family would live if you became his?” Steve guessed. He kissed his husband’s lips softly. “And let the fire happen anyway just to mess with you, I’d guess.”

Looking down at his family potrait again, James nodded.

“And, James, you never agreed to become his . . . no oath, you said, right?” Steve kissed the brunet’s cheek, just as gently.

“No, he doesn’t own me, I’m actually one of the very few free demons. Most answer to masters. I don’t. Never have, never will.” James’ eyes scanned the picture again.

Shaking his head, Steve kissed below James’ ear. “I don’t think you’re a demon at all.”

“Oh, I’m a demon, all right,” James looked back at Steve, “no soul or anything. A creature of hell.”

“Nope, you’re not a demon,” Steve insisted, kissing James’ neck and shoulder. “No oath, no demon.”

James laughed, shaking his head, “if only that were true, Stevie.”

Lifting his head, Steve offered a gentle smile to his husband. “You said it yourself. When you died, you were to become an angel. But Pierce made you fall before that happened.” He kissed James’ neck again. “Not a demon . . . a fallen angel.”

The demon blinked. He pulled Steve back, “what? What did you say?”

“You died trying to save people. Angelic. You were _supposed_ to be an angel. Pierce tricked you into dying, but you never gave him an oath. Thus, fallen angel. Not demon. You need to swear your soul away to become a demon, James.” Steve smiled softly.

Just then, a knock on the door echoed throughout the home.

“Let me look,” Brock called from the shadows, where he’d been silently watching. The demon checked outside staying hidden.

When the demon announced it was Natasha, James bolted from his seat and opened the door. “Did you know?” He asked, tone a near growl.

She studied him a moment then said, “I would love to come in, thank you.”

James let her step inside, shutting the door behind her.

“Thank you, James. And yes, I knew.” She turned and nodded to Steve then Brock, whom Steve still couldn’t see, then back to James. “So, is he outside?”

“With Sam, the traitor,” James grumbled, arms crossing in front of his chest.

She twitched an eyebrow. “Traitor? For trying to protect your Steve? If he had broken his word to anyone else for the same reason, protecting Steve, he’d be an ally and friend in your eyes.”

Growling in frustration, James shook his head and ran his left hand through his hair.

“Besides, he’ll make a hell of an archivist when he dies.” Natasha gracefully sat on a stool and began glancing through the research left there.

Steve never said a word, merely watching, letting the two have their discussion.

“Don’t you want to see your soul?” James asked.

“And I thought you’d have more accusations, veiled threats, and desperate questions for me.” She looked up, amused.

James rolled his eyes and huffed, “that’s not _all_ the reasons I come to see you. You’re _such a joy_ to be around.”

“Well, aside from the normal desperate research we fallen angels collect and pour over in hopes of finding a way out of this limbo, you make a pretty good one.” She said, calmly, placing the stack back in a neat pile.

“One desperate question and then I’ll take you to your soul,” James said, uncrossing his arms.

“Only one? Wow, that’s a first,” she chuckled.

“If I’m . . . a _fallen_ . . . why do my eyes turn black? I’ve yet to meet a fallen angel whose eyes turn black like a demon’s.” James asked.

She nodded. “Very good question. Show’s you’re thinking.” She stood and walked towards him. Touching his left arm, over the injury, her skin cool and soft, she said, “because you think they’re supposed to.”

“What?” James actually laughed, “you mean I mind-tricked _myself_?”

She nodded. “How easy it is to do. Pierce tells you you’re a demon who sold your soul, and you, not knowing any better, believe him. His eyes go black when he uses his powers, naturally you thought your’s would automatically do the same . . .so they do.” She traced the malformed lump. “Does this hurt?”

“Eh,” James shrugged, “only a bit in the winters. Nothing I can’t handle. Gives me a rugged look, don’t you think?” The newly discovered fallen angel smirked.

She nodded. “Well, you would know pain. You’ve been a human. I’ve never been one before. Pain is alien to me.” She shrugged. “If you’re satisfied, we can go find my soul. Unless you need more?”

“Nah,” James moved his hand to Natasha’s back and guided her out of the door, “he’s right this way.”

“Did you never wonder why your energy didn’t scare Steve while Brock’s did?” She shook her head but allowed James to guide her. Upon seeing Clint, Natasha stilled, almost like she was afraid to get closer.

“A human. Scaring Natasha. Now I’ve seen it all,” James chuckled lightly, “go on, he doesn’t bite.”

She whispered, for his ears only, “I’m not afraid of the human. I’m afraid of the pain it will be to give my angel status to someone else so I will no longer be fallen. I hear it is more painful than even childbirth.”

James quirked a brow and looked over at where Clint pointed something out in the distance to Sam, “you want to make Clint an angel?”

She laughed. “God, no. He wouldn’t be able to cope with that.” She shot a semi-nervous grin at James. “I want to give it to our child.” With that, the redhead took a deep breath and stepped out, drawing the attention of the two men. Clint’s eyes widened and he smiled in pure welcome at seeing the lovely woman.

James stood back, mouth hanging slightly; Natasha was going to have a child with Clint? How was that even possible?

“They seem happy,” Steve whispered behind James, hand touching his husband’s lower back gently.

Humming softly, James leaned into Steve’s sturdy side and nodded, “I think we found Clint’s angel. She’ll let him have his wicked way with her.”

“Is she a fallen angel, too?” Steve asked softly.

“Yep,” James nodded, “one of the oldest, most powerful ones on this planet.”

“And she’s giving that up for mortality? I suppose her baby will be a really powerful angel. Do you think it will be stillborn so it becomes an angel instantly or will it wait for a few years?”

“Living forever isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” James muttered and then he shook his head, “hard to say. Depends on when the higher ups wanna take it.”

“I guess she found a way to atone for falling? Giving her power, and thereby angel status, to someone else.” Steve looked down at James with a smile. “Must have searched forever to find the man she was willing to go through that pain for.”

James smiled as he watched Clint talk with his exaggerated hand gestures, making Natasha laugh softly. “Yeah, well . . . “

Kissing behind James’ ear softly, Steve whispered, “you did that. For them. You were able to save Clint and give Natasha her chance.”

“I just stopped a few bullets. _You_ saved his life, Steve.”

The blond kissed again. “Yeah, but you saved me at eight. Cause and effect, James. Every time you save a life, you change the flow of things. Sometimes worse, sometimes better.”

James cringed, thinking of Joseph Rogers, the fallen angel looked up at Steve and said, “I gave him cancer, Steve.”

Frowning, brow furrowing in confusion, Steve asked, “what? Who? Why?”

“Your father,” James answered, “when I healed you . . . I transferred _your_ death onto him. I - - I didn’t know at the time, I promise.” The brunet bit his lip, looking guilty and upset.

Slowly, softly, Steve asked, “you didn’t know that saving me would . . . kill my father . . .?”

Shaking his head, James said, “Pierce didn’t tell me a lot of things about my abilities. The cost of using the magic. A life for a life. You were supposed to die, I saved you, and they needed to take someone.”

After another long pause, Steve placed his forehead against James’ and whispered, “thank you.”

Gasping softly in surprise, James asked with wide eyes, “for what?”

Not lifting his head, Steve settled his hands on his husband’s hips. “If I had died at eight, my father would have never had me all those years. Instead, you saved me. Yeah, Da died, but we had each other for another seventeen years before he passed. Thank you for that time with him.” Steve sighed.

“I love you, Steve,” James murmured, taking in a deep breath.

“Oh, yeah,” Steve pulled back, a teasing smile on his lips, “and of course, I got to be with you, too, because I lived. So there’s a big bonus.” He kissed James softly. “I love you, too, James.”

“I’m glad I get to spend the next lifetime with you,” James admitted softly.

“I’m sorry I’ll grow old and die, James. But you’ll have me while I’m here.” Steve stroked his cheek.

“I’ll just have to savor every goddamned second of it, then, won’t I?” James smiled.

“God-blessed,” Steve corrected softly and kissed him deeply.


	13. Flames of Destiny

James laughed, head falling back, as Clint told another one of his ridiculous jokes. The sun was just beginning to set, painting the clear skies in beautiful shades of orange, pink and blue. The fallen angel flipped the burgers on the grill and turned to look at the stocky blond, and then his pale blue eyes moved over to where Natasha sat at the picnic table, her belly swollen from being eight and a half months pregnant. The older fallen angel felt practically human by now, the transfer of her powers to the infant she was carrying just about complete.

“The doctors say it’s healthy right?” James asked, gesturing towards the redhead, “the baby, I mean. Nat said something about running all those tests . . . they couldn’t find any abnormalities.” He put slices of cheese on each of the patties; he waited for the cheese to melt before scraping the burgers off the grill and onto the awaiting platter in Clint’s hands.

“Yeah, they can’t find anything wrong, but Natasha told me the baby will be stillborn in order to be an angel,” he sighed, happy expression dropping for a moment before he regained his smile.

Nodding, James said, “That’s gotta be hard for you . . . I’m sorry,” the brunet walked back into the home he shared with his husband and Sharon. Clint had moved out a few months after meeting Natasha.

Clint followed the food, and his friend, faithfully. He gave Sam an absent smile; the New York City EMT was in a long distance relationship with Sharon, until after her thirty-third birthday; she said that was when she would consider really getting into a relationship.

Steve and Sharon’s birthday cake sat on the wooden counter, decorated tastefully with red, white, and blue. ‘Happy 33rd Birthday, Steve and Sharon!’ was written neatly with red icing. Clint had insisted on being the one in charge of decorating the cake and James was pleasantly surprised that he’d done a really good job.

James set the platter down on the counter and moved to the fridge to pull out the pre-cut lettuce, tomatoes and onions. Setting those down next to the patties, the fallen angel brought out the rest of the condiments and side dishes.

Steve walked out of the back room and smiled. “James,” he murmured, slipping his hands on his husband’s hips, tugging him carefully closer, and kissed his neck. “Hey, love.”

Humming in happiness, James kissed Steve’s lips, “Hey, Birthday Boy.”

The tall blond smiled. “Thirty-three . . . it went by fast, didn’t it?” He slid his fingers just under James’ hem, caressing the skin underneath his shirt.

“You have no idea,” James whispered, each year that passed, the fallen angel knew was a year closer to when he’d lose Steve. He shivered pleasantly under the blond’s touch.

“So, tonight we celebrate my coming of age?” Steve joked, smiling, running his fingers across James’ abdomen. “And we can make love until dawn . . .”

“Mmm . . . all night even? Hell, it ain’t even my birthday, you spoil me,” James grinned.

“No, it’s _mine_ ,” Steve chuckled. He kissed right under James’ ear then pulled away, just as the door opened and Sharon walked in.

She smiled. “Don’t stop on my account unless you were getting raunchy,” she chuckled. Behind her the other three guests entered.

“Oh, we were getting raunchy, all right,” James joked, waggling his eyebrows.

The smell of the barbecue being soaked with water suddenly came to them, despite all six people being in the kitchen. Steve frowned, looking confused.

James straighten, he looked at Natasha, “you smell that?” The fallen angel broke from Steve’s side to begin walking to the front door.

“Yeah,” she said. “And I feel that, too.” She casually strode from the kitchen, not seeming rushed, but her eyes were intense.

“No,” James said, turning to face her, “you stay in here,” his eyes traveled to her pregnant belly. “I’ll check it out.”

She nodded in agreement. “Okay.” Natasha wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize this child. Not only was it her ticket to humanity, but if she lost this one prematurely, she’d have to go through it all again . . . only to lose the next one, not a decision she could make lightly.

The fallen angel opened the door and looked outside; Brock was using his energy to train a steady stream of water into the barbeque, over drowning the coals. The demon frowned severely, eyes hell black and glowing slightly.

“Brock?” James stepped outside, shutting the door behind him.

“ _He’s_ found you, James. _He_ said _he_ was gonna rain fire on your ass.” Brock continued to drown the only flame source he had found.

James turned and ran into the house, “we gotta go!” The fallen angel said as he burst through the door.

Clint frowned. “Again?” He grabbed both the burger plate and the lettuce plate. “Okay, someone get the tomatoes and onions and pickles. Don’t forget the ketchup and mustard.” He began maneuvering out the door with the food.

“Forget the fucking food, Clint!” James ran over to Steve and grabbed his hand, he whirled on Sam, “you get Sharon outta here, keep driving until I call you, do not stop.”

Making an _‘O’_ with his mouth, Clint seemed to get it and sighed, dropping the food as he walked and heading for the car, Natasha on his heels. Unfortunately, the warning had come too late as the sound of fireworks, well before dusk, rumbled and burst through the air, a colorful display of deadly sparks raining onto the roof.

The red-haired former angel whirled around, hand protectively over her belly, as she stared in horror. The roof caught fire quickly, unnaturally quick. Clint pushed her into the car as she called out in a loud scream of shocked pain, doubling over. “Shit!” Clint screamed and turned a pale, panicked look on James.

James lifted his hands and a powerful energy wall kept the smoke and flames from reaching the humans. Looking at Clint, the fallen angel shouted, “get her out of here! Get her to a hospital!”

Nodding, the stocky blond fumbled in his pocket for the keys, thankful he’d had them on him in case he had to make a beer run. Sam opened the back door and shoved in Sharon, slamming the door before Clint got around to the driver’s side; the EMT turned back to help. Clint got into the car and pulled it from the driveway, glancing back once at the brunet still trying to fight the quickly rising flames.

Body seeming to bend under the weight of the collapsing roof, James shouted at Sam, “get Steve out of here!” A large beam from the roof hit the energy wall and James gasped, but he didn’t lower his hands, he actually raised them higher.

The dark-skinned human ran into the flames, realizing that the reason the blond hadn’t left was that he was ringed in high flames. The tall blond had blood and char on the side of his head, one hand held against the injury. “C’mon, Steve, gotta run the gauntlet man!”

Shaking his head, Steve called back, “No! Not without James!”

“James has fucking demon powers, Steve. C’mon!” The smaller man pulled off his jacket and went for the sink. “James, he ain’t listening!”

Turning to look over his shoulder, arms still raised, James screamed, eyes wide, voice frantic and worried, “Steve! Go! Now!”

“Not without you!” Steve called again, hesitating to cross the flames, his clothes starting to smoulder.

“Fuck!” Sam called, throwing his soaked jacket over his head. He dove in, pushing Steve out the other side of the uncanny fire ring, tumbling them both.

Lowering one hand, James aimed it at the two humans and cleared a path in the flames and smoke towards the door. The flames were were _so hot_ , the weight of the roof making his limbs tremble with exertion.

Dragging the larger man to his feet, Sam pushed and pulled with as much strength as he could find, forcing the blond from the kitchen and into the yard.

“Hello, James.” The voice came from the center of the ring where Steve had been trapped. Pierce stood there, grinning, as if he stood in the center of an air conditioned office.

“What the fuck do you want?!” James shouted, his eyes never changed, even as he used his powers.

“What do I want? What have I always wanted?” Pierce leered at James and flicked his hand, pulling the fallen angel from where he stood, using his energy to drag the other being towards him. Noting the eye color, Pierce frowned and growled. “You figured it out.” He sounded angry.

“I was never a demon,” James snarled, “I was never _yours_.”

“But you did such good work for me, any way, James,” Pierce laughed, cold and soulless dark. He tugged with his energy again, moving James closer to the flames, closer to himself.

James fought against the pull, all the while focusing on keeping the roof upright.

“I am surprised you refused to use the girl to retrieve your soul, James. This is the ripe time. The only other way for you to do so is to sacrifice your unborn child, and let’s face it, you are not quite built to carry one.” Pierce chuckled, a mirthless rumble.

The amulet around James’ neck burned hot and the fallen angel growled and flicked his wrist, one of the dining chairs flew in Pierce’s direction.

A small flick of his fingers and the chair smashed back against a wall, Pierce smirking as he turned back to James. “Pathetic. You were stronger years ago. Your affair with the human has weakened you.” He laughed. “I did warn you, James, when first you gave up your humanity. Sex with mortals is forbidden . . . it will drain you of your power and make you helpless.”

A low growl from the darkness by the refrigerator intruded. “Demon love with humans, maybe, but not sex. And Angels get stronger with love.”

Pierce flung out a hand, dragging Brock from the shadows and lifting him into the air by his throat, energy wrapping dark and strong around the lesser demon.

James screamed and launched himself at Pierce; when Brock fell back to the ground, the fallen angel pushed his uncle out of the burning home, through a window. An energy wall surrounded the home, locking any other being out.

With a bark of hell dark laughter, Pierce wrapped his energy around James and tugged him over in a rush. He reached out his hand and grasped the fallen angel by the neck, fingers brushing the twisted leather.

The fallen angel gasped and tried to fight against the hold, his legs kicking uselessly in the air. The roof began to sag; James had to focus only on keeping the building from falling on top of them.

Squeezing, Pierce laughed again. “You should have listened to me, James, become one of mine. You would have lived forever.” With his other hand, he reached up and tugged at the leather. “And this useless trinket will do you no good. It is a _demon_ charm, not one for the likes of _you_.”

“I . . . will never . . . be like . . . you,” James wheezed out, his hands tugging at Pierce’s hands. His vision began to tunnel and the fallen angel’s lungs burned with the lack of oxygen.

Smile twisting across his face like a path to hell, Pierce tugged the leather again, twisting it as he did so. The leather snapped under the pressure, falling away in the demon’s fingers, the sapphire losing it’s other-worldly glow.

James gasped and a wave of pure power rushed through his body. A bright gold ring flashed in his pale eyes, and a surge of energy pulsed out of his body, sending Pierce back, sailing across the room. The fallen angel collapsed to the floor, a small trickle of blood running from his nose.

Stumbling, the older being, a demon of long standing, glanced up and growled low, anger and hatred in his very presence. “You will regret defying me, you fallen freak! I will have all those you ever dreamed of caring for!”

James slowly stood, looking at the demon with a growl. Lifting his hands again, James used every ounce of power left in him to open a dark portal behind the demon, “you will no longer be on this earth, Pierce! You will never take another innocent soul. You are going to rot in the deepest pit of hell!” The fallen angel let his energy surge from his body, a wave rippling through the air and hitting the powerful demon, hard.

With a scream of pure pain, black eyes widening in terror and shock, the demon fell through the wall and into a darkness deeper than his own soulless being.

The fallen angel sagged, thick blood running from his nose and ears from the powerful expulsion of energy. Falling to his knees, the roof collapsing with him, James’ eyes rolled back as he let the darkness take him.

**********

Still trying to fight Sam, the weakened blond screamed as the roof came crashing down in a fiery inferno. “James!” He pulled away, adrenaline surging, and rushed towards the flaming heap of debris only to stumble and fall to his knees. He pushed up from the ground but staggered as a dark-haired man pulled the unconscious James from the flames; the lean brunet was covered in dark, black blood and ash, dirt and burning soot.

Tripping and falling next to his unconscious husband, Steve immediately began performing CPR, trying desperately to will his lover to live. He prayed, he swore, he begged, all the while trying to breathe for James, trying to coax his heart into pulsing life through his veins. Tears streamed down his own soot-covered face, through his bloody burns, unheeded.

Sam, also dropping to his knees, managed to wedge his fingers against James’ pulse point in his neck. He frowned and moved to the other side. Shaking his head, he tried several other ones: wrists, elbow, even temple. No air movement came, Steve’s breaths being rejected by the non-moving lungs. “Steve, he’s gone,” Sam said softly.

“No!” Steve refused to listen, to accept such an ending. He continued to work on James’ body. Sam stood and, with the aid of Brock, pulled Steve from the fallen angel. The blond curled up, pushing against Brock’s arm, trying to get back to his husband. “James . . . no . . . let me save him!”

“You already did,” Peggy stepped out of nothing, syncing into humanity with a soft frown. She turned to James and knelt down, and both the angel and the deceased man faded from sight, out-synching as Steve began to wail.

“Hello, James,” the angel said softly.

James’ eyes opened and he looked around, “what . . . what happened?” The fallen angel’s voice cracked; he looked at Peggy, “where am I?”

“You died, James,” she answered simply. “You are awaiting a final decision.”

“Died?” James gasped, eyes wide, “I thought . . . I thought I couldn’t die . . . where’s Steve? He’s okay, right?”

“Steve is alive. You can die. Demons and angels and even fallen angels can lose their lives, James. It is difficult to do, but you managed it quite nicely.” She smoothed her skirt.

“Thanks?” James looked around again, he _knew_ this room. He was standing in his family’s living room, everything looked just like he remembered . . . except lighter, purer. “And Pierce? He’s gone, right?” He looked back at the angel.

“He is not dead. You were not strong enough for that. However, he is going to take a very long time to find his way out of the pit you sent him to.” She smiled, satisfaction radiating from her. “The pendant full of you energy . . . your dark energy . . . was enough to curse him to the pit.”

James nodded; he felt odd. He felt _whole_. “What . . . what happens now?”

She smiled widely. “You are now free to be what you were always meant to be. By your sacrifice, by giving your soul and life to save Steve, a being of purity, and curse Pierce, you have earned your wings.”

“You mean be an angel?” James asked, a twinge of sadness crossed his features. What would happen to Steve if he became an angel?

With a nod, Peggy held out her hand. “Yes, James. You may now be an angel of death, as you were always meant to be. You can be a being of pure energy and goodness.”

“What about Steve? Would I still be able to be with him?” James questioned.

“Steve?” She asked softly, shaking her head slightly. “Steve is mortal. He will stay on earth and live the life you earned him. An angel is not permitted to lie with a human, James. It is forbidden. And an angel of death is forbidden to stay in one place for long. You must go where you are needed.”

“Oh,” James looked down; he’d never get to see Steve’s sweet smile or bright blue eyes ever again. Steve would move on, live his life . . . die. He’d never make him another breakfast or place a trail of kisses down the blond’s chest.

“You aren’t happy. You performed the ritual and yet you are unhappy,” Peggy stated.

“I . . . I love him . . .” James whispered, head raising to look at Peggy. “Will . . . will he at least live a long life? A happy one?”

“He will live a very long time, James. But he will live alone, without a spouse or children.” For once it seemed an angel was answering his questions directly, no riddles, no hidden information. “He will remain true to his husband.”

Despair for his lover swarmed in his chest, James swallowed, “he’ll be alone?”

She shrugged. “He will have his friends.”

“Will he be happy?” James asked.

She sighed. “James, you cannot change what he feels for the death of his husband. He will live long, alone and faithful.”

James nodded, “if I promise not to . . . show myself . . . can I at least _see_ him every once in awhile?”

Peggy stared at James a long time. “Do you not wish to be an angel of death, James? Do you refuse your original destiny?”

“I want to be with Steve,” James answered honestly.

“But you and he will live only sixty or seventy years more. Then you both will perish.” She frowned softly.

“I’d rather only have sixty years with him than an eternity without,” James looked at the angel, his tone sincere and full of love.

“So, you wish to choose humanity rather than your wings?” Peggy asked.

“I choose _Steve_ over my wings . . . I’ll always choose him,” James shrugged, a small smile on his lips, “but if I can’t be with him . . . I just need to be able to check in on him every few years.”

She chuckled softly. “Of course you can be with him. I thought you had researched the ritual enough to know that.”

“Let’s just skip my usual twenty questions,” James started, looking quite confused.

Still chuckling, she shook her head. “The ritual of retrieving your soul is quite simple. You need to sacrifice yourself to save a pure soul, or a great many if they aren’t so pure. Once you have proven your worth, you are granted what you wish for your future, be it death or your wings or a mortal life.”

“I can be with Steve?” James asked, a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

**********

Kneeling over the body of his dead husband, Steve held James close, crying as his heart broke. He’d had his Bucky, then his James, forever, as long as he was alive, and now . . . he couldn’t feel him. There was not even a hint of the energy that was the core of his beloved husband. The blond felt overwhelmed by the absence.

James’ back arched as he took in a deep breath of air, filling his lungs, the breath came out in a series of choked coughs.

Steve opened his eyes, confused, scared, hopeful, and preparing for disappointment. He couldn’t have heard James breathe . . . the man had been dead, unresponsive, for over an hour. The only reason no one had taken the body was that Steve hadn’t allowed anyone near enough.

“Steve?” James rasped out, his tone weak and trembling.

“James?” Steve felt his heart twist and lurch, a wave of dizziness washing over him. He clutched his husband’s shoulders and blinked several times, leaning closer. “James? My God, are you alive?” He began to cry again, but in hope and burgeoning joy. “My God, James!”

“Feels like I got hit by a truck . . . but yeah . . . I’m alive,” James groaned.

“You got hit by the roof,” Steve burst out then sealed his mouth over the brunet’s for a very brief kiss, not wanting to choke his lover.

Looking up at Steve, pale eyes standing out against his soot-covered skin, James slowly lifted one hand to hover over his husband’s injury, “you’re hurt . . .”

“No worse than you, baby,” Steve sobbed.

“Hey, kiddo,” Brock’s deep rumble sounded from nearby, the demon still synced in.

“Brock,” James smiled and looked over to try and peer over Steve to look at his long-time friend and uncle.

“The angel wants you to know that you will die together.” The demon shrugged.

“I think I’ve had enough death talk for right now,” James smirked.

Brock rolled his eyes. “No, she means you’ll see another half-dozen decades and die together. She said you asked.”

James turned to look back up at Steve; he offered his husband a small smile, “how does that sound, doll?”

“Sixty years with you sounds like Heaven, James,” Steve breathed. He sealed his mouth over his husband’s, heart beating in sync with the lean brunet’s. His pure love enveloped the pair in feather-soft light that only the angels could see.


End file.
